


Willow River: Day Four

by istie, Lostboys143, planetlostinspace, ricky_goldsworth, sessrumnir, shareyoursunshines, WitchBoyWriter



Series: Willow River [7]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Adoptive Parents - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, Angel Adam Bianchi, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Buzzfeed Unsolved Cinematic Universe - Freeform, Collaborative fic, Demon Shane Madej, F/F, F/M, Fae Andrew Ilnyckyj, Gen, Implied Relationships, Imprisonment, M/M, Monster of the Week, Multi, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 11:09:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15217862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lostboys143/pseuds/Lostboys143, https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetlostinspace/pseuds/planetlostinspace, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricky_goldsworth/pseuds/ricky_goldsworth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sessrumnir/pseuds/sessrumnir, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shareyoursunshines/pseuds/shareyoursunshines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchBoyWriter/pseuds/WitchBoyWriter
Summary: After our intrepid adventurers successfully bring down their first monster, they have a lot of questions.  Will the denizens of Willow River be willing to give them any answers?





	1. Morning - I

**Author's Note:**

> You definitely want to read this series in order! Read Willow River: Days One through Three and Mikaere's Weekend before diving into this instalment.
> 
> \---
> 
> Since March of 2018, myself and six friends have been playing an online Monster of the Week campaign, with myself as Keeper (or dungeon master, if you prefer). It has evolved into two months of intense emotional journey, and we're having so much fun that we thought we should share it with you.
> 
> Basic credits: story and narration by me, characters' backstories and actions by their respective players...
> 
> The main cast is, in alphabetical order by last name:  
> Owen Atwin, played by @WitchBoyWriter;  
> Chen Xiaolian, played by @Lostboys143;  
> James Finn, played by @planetlostinspace;  
> Mikaere Jones, played by @ghoul_ish;  
> Roan Morris, played by @girlwiththebooks;  
> Cassandra Wojtek, played by @sessrumnir;  
> something like two dozen NPCs, played by @istie,  
> and the narrator, also played by @istie.
> 
> I have edited our transcripts down into novel format: most times a character is speaking or acting, they are being played by their player - only in montages or scene descriptions do I, as Keeper, have control. I have also edited out our rolls, as Monster of the Week is a dice-based game: you only see the narrative results.
> 
> We hope you enjoy reading as much as we have enjoyed playing so far!

Sunday morning dawns slowly. The sky is clear and blue – once the sun burns off the dew, it’s going to be a lovely warm day.  The cafe opens at 9, like it usually does on Sunday mornings, though only Andrew is present – Adam and Steven will arrive in an hour or two, again, as usual.  Banjo flips the sign on his door to open, but knows it’s a courtesy – he rarely gets visitors before noon, though he wonders if today will be different.  City hall is closed today: everyone is home with their kids, or heading to church, or going to the cafe for Sunday brunch.  The birds are chirping, the trees are budding: it’s a beautiful day in Willow River.

Xiaolian wakes up, still exhausted from the past couple of days. She stares at the ceiling for a while, playing with the wings on the mothman plushie Shane had given her for her tenth birthday. She really wants waffles. And company.

Something is nagging at the back of her mind, like something she doesn’t really want to remember. …probably just the night before, really.  The café should be open, if Andrew and Adam have come home. It’s Sunday morning – just Andrew till 11.

Andrew and Adam constantly compete to see who can make the best waffles without “stooping to experimentation”, like they claim Steven does. Steven always rolls his eyes and just orders them whatever cockamamie ingredients they want to try this week. “No experimentation”, his ass…

A message pops up on Xiaolian, Roan, and Cassandra’s phone from James. “Meet me at the cafe, getting some waffles and changing bandages.”

Roan groans as they hear their phone buzz, one hand slithering out of their blanket burrito to grab it. Huh. Guess that means they actually need to shower and put clothes on and appear like a presentable human. Five more minutes of sleep, then time to be a person – albeit a half dead one.

Xiaolian gets up and dressed. She opens up her blinds and blinks at the bright sunlight coming in. It really is a waffle kind of day. She grabs her backpack, inside is a laptop, a note book, a pencil case, and a book on her latest interest, bees. She checks to see if Bolin is sleeping, and writes him a note letting him know where she’ll be. She heads out and to the café.

Cassandra sees the notification pop up but doesn’t stop typing. She’s on her laptop, so she finishes what she needs to put on paper before she closes the lid and stands up. She’s heading to the cafe about half an hour later, wearing a light coat over her clothes and her usual combat boots.

* * *

About 9.30, once Andrew has a minute where he’s not immediately needed at a kitchen appliance, he jogs up the stairs and knocks on Owen’s door. “Hey bud. You awake?”

Owen had been just waking up, and when Andrew knocks, he sits up. “I’m awake!” He calls, but stays in the bed.

“Cool. How’s your arm?”

Owen looks down at his arm, and then back at the door, shrugging before realizing Andrew can’t see him through the door. “It’s okay. It doesn’t really hurt at all.”

“That’s good. You wanna come down and hang out in the kitchen with me?”

“Yeah, sure!” Owen gets up, heading over and opening the door.

Andrew is standing on the other side, quite close to the door: he still looks pretty tired, and he hasn’t shaved, so now it’s a three-day beard. He’s wearing his whites, and an apron, and he’s semi-covered in flour, including a smear on his cheek. His arm is carefully wrapped in bandaging, and there’s bandaging plaster over the scrape on his jaw, too.

Owen smiles up at Andrew, reaching over and hugging him. “I’m still sorry I scared you yesterday.”

Andrew freezes slightly, then puts his arms around Owen. “I know you didn’t mean to. It’s just been a tough couple of days, and when you weren’t here when Adam and I got back—” He sighs. “I was worried that something really bad had happened to you.”

“I promise I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for a long time.” Owen says softly.

It might be Owen’s imagination, but it feels like Andrew holds him a little bit tighter. “You shouldn’t have had to,” he says, equally as softly. “I know you  _can_  take care of yourself, Owen, I just … we  _want_  to.”

Owen burrows his face against Andrew. “But you don’t have to  _worry_ , I’ll be okay.”

Andrew shakes a little, laughing silently. “Owen, that’s what parents are  _for_.”

“…parents?” Owen asks softly. “Does that mean I have a dad now?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, then he exhales slowly, and Owen can hear the slight smile in his voice. “Well, I mean, you kind of have three. If you want us, that is.”

“Yeah!” Owen grins. “I mean I didn’t really have any before…” He frowns. “Or I guess my dad was a ghoul, since my mom wasn’t…? But they didn’t really take care of me, so they don’t count.”

Again, Andrew doesn’t speak for a second, and before he does he pulls away from Owen gently, his hands on Owen’s shoulders. His eyes are slightly red-ringed as he holds Owen’s gaze. “I’d really like to hear your whole story sometime, Owen, if you feel comfortable telling me. But for now: I’d be honoured to be your dad. I promise I’ll do my best to protect you and teach you whatever you need to know.”

Owen nods, smiling again. “Okay.” He says, hugging Andrew again.  This time, Andrew says nothing at all, and just hugs Owen tightly.  “Are we gonna go downstairs?”

Andrew laughs softly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go downstairs. I’m making waffles.”

“Can I learn how to make food? I can’t eat it but I can make it for other people!”

Andrew lets go of Owen, and begins to head down the stairs. As Owen says this, he looks over his shoulder. “…You know what?” he says, “Sure. That sounds like a great idea.”  Owen grins, and follows Andrew down.

As they make their way downstairs, Owen can hear the subdued hustle and bustle of the café on a quiet Sunday morning. Andrew leads him into the kitchen, and Owen can see into the front side – he sees James and Xiaolian already there, and Cassandra and Roan walk through the door just a moment later.

“James, I’m telling you. Bees are fucking wild! They literally vibrate their bodies so that it heats up to just one degree below what would kill them in order to kill another insect! How fucking hardcore is that?!”

James chuckles. “That’s pretty baller.”

When he sees everyone, Owen perks up, and turns to Andrew. “That’s all my new friends that I was with yesterday.” He says. “… Can I go say hi before you teach me cooking?”

Andrew looks the group over. “Sure,” he says. “It’s good to have friends.” He takes Owen by the elbow before he can leave, though, and pulls him in close, speaking softly. “Before you do: you need to know that things like ghouls are secrets that most people don’t know about. They scare most folks. I’d suggest keeping stuff like that quiet, okay? And please, talk to me, Adam, or Steven before you agree to do anything, or if you’re nervous about anything.”

Owen nods. “Okay, I will.” He promises, before going to the rest of the group. “Hi!”

James looks over to Owen. “Hey, how are your bandages doing today? Need fresh ones?”

“I dunno?” He holds out his arm. “Do I need new ones?”

Xiaolian turns to Cassandra. “Cass, get a load of this. Bees actually have  _five_ eyes.  _Five_!”

“Wait, why? What do they need that for?” Cassandra is confused for a second, but she remembers to greet everyone with a big smile, sitting at the table with them.

“It’s so that they can fly straight. But isn’t that wild. Imagining needing five whole eyes in order to not face plant into a wall.” Xiaolian thinks she might want honey with her waffles.

“Well, changing bandages keep the wound from getting infected. We’ve only had these on for around eight hours so it should be fine to stay on for a while, and the leaves I added will help a lot. But if it still hurts, I should add more to help it heal,” James explains to Owen, while Xiaolian explains bees to Cassandra.

Owen nods. “Okay.” He says, and turns to the other three in the group. “Hi!”

Roan is slumped down in the chair. Their brain doesn’t really kick in before coffee, but they try to give a smile.

Andrew brings over several plates of waffles, and a whole pot of coffee. He comes back around a moment later with cream, sugar, and a dozen different little pots of toppings – fruits, syrups, chocolate curls, you name it.

Roan pours themself coffee and gulps it down, ignoring the burn in their throat. They aren’t really sure what they’re doing here, but they need coffee and food and it would have been rude to ignore everyone.  Meanwhile, James pours himself a cup of coffee, adding creamer and sugar before drinking it.

Xiaolian looks up at Andrew, pure love in her eyes. “Andrew, have I ever told you how much I love and appreciate you?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You tell me occasionally.” As he walks away, she notices the bandage on his arm, not to mention the three-day beard complete with plastered scrape.

Xiaolian frowns. She gets up immediately and follows him. “Andrew, what happened?”

Andrew looks back over his shoulder. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

Cassandra is busy eating a waffle, but she’s glancing at Xiaolian and Andrew’s exchange, trying to hear what they’re saying.

Xiaolian gestures vaguely to his arm and face and makes a noise that sounds like “you know what.”

He keeps his eyebrow raised, and points to the bandage on her own arm.

“Hey, I asked you first.”

He crosses his arms, gives her a significant look, and leads her into the back room.  Xiaolian immediately starts going through what to say to not get in trouble in her head.  James raises his eyebrows as Xiaolian and Andrew leave. He looks over to Cassandra, giving her a  _weird stuff happening_  look.

He turns to face her, arms still crossed. “ _I_  was out hunting. Like we do here in Willow River. Keeps the freezers full.” He looks pointedly at her arm. “I’ve heard some interesting things about what  _you_  were doing last night, though.”

Xiaolian gives him a weak smile. “At least it wasn’t drugs?”

“In this case, I’d almost  _prefer_  you were out in the forest smoking a joint.”

“Are you advocating drug use? To a child?”  Xiaolian is trying her best to keep him off topic.

“You’re not a child anymore, Xiaolian, which is the only reason I’m talking to  _you_  and not to your brother.” His eyes are rapidly turning flinty, though he’s still completely calm.

Xiaolian stares at the ground. “It’s not like planned to go out last night. I tried my best to get Owen and I back home but stuff happened and I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

Andrew leans back against the shelving. “Alright. I’m listening. Tell me what happened.”

“I was just watching movies with Owen after Steven had to go. But then Keith called me up saying he had some folks who wanted a tour. Those three showed up and I was just gonna give them a regular tour. But then they wanted to go to the train station for some reason. And while we were there, Owen kinda tried to take a bite out of Roan. I tried to get us out of there but then there was a knife and I started—” Xiaolian hesitates, not really sure if she wants to delve into her powers yet. “…and so then they just kept asking questions and next thing I know, they have me and Owen helping them.”

“Helping them. With what, precisely?”

“Umm…stealing a body and killing a ghoul?”

Andrew exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Alright. So the kid wasn’t hallucinating things.” He points in her general direction, eyes still closed. “Did it bite you?”

“Yes, but, uh, James took care of it.”

He rubs even harder on his nose, then presses his hands to the sides of his head briefly before looking up at her. “Who is this James person?”

“I think he said he was like a monster hunter. I don’t know much about him other than that.”

“A monster hunter, eh.” He frowns. “Anything else to tell me? Am I right in presuming Bolin doesn’t know what happened?”

She smiles sheepishly. “Yeah he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot actually.”

Andrew sighs deeply. “Alright. I think that’s probably a conversation you ought to have with him at some point.” He rubs his eyes, clearly just exhausted. “Honestly, I’d love to ask you to just not go out hunting monsters, but—” He laughs ruefully. “I know you too well for that, so… please just don’t do anything without all the information, and without backup. Be  _careful_ , Xiaolian.”

Xiaolian plays with them hem of her shirt. “…I don’t really know how to tell him. The only one who actually knows about it is Shane.”  And in mentioning Shane, Xiaolian remembers something, vaguely. Something she dreamed. Or was it a nightmare? She remembers waking up with her heart pounding, having dreamed … something. Something about Shane? She can’t pin it, but she’s unsettled.

Andrew doesn’t respond immediately. This isn’t abnormal, really. He’s usually quiet, and takes time to think before he speaks. But this time, the moment stretches on just a little too long, and he swallows heavily and takes a long breath before he says, “… I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Come on, I need to get back to the kitchen. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He turns and leaves before she can say anything.  The others see Andrew leave the back room and go into the kitchen, returning to one of the back counters. Xiaolian does not immediately follow him out.

Cassandra frowns slightly when Xiaolian doesn’t follow him out, but turns to the others, opening her trademark smile again. “Hey guys!” She smiles particularly wide at Owen, happy to see the guy talking to them first this time. “Did you get enough sleep? Anyone feeling any pain?”

“I brought more of the herb if anyone needs some more. Which I don’t expect cause this stuff works miracles on flesh wounds.” James starts adding what is probably too much whipped cream to his waffle.

In the back room, the unsettled feeling gets stronger, and Xiaolian can feel her chest tighten. She leans against the wall, struggling to breathe.

“…Do you think Xiaolian is okay?” Owen asks, looking back to where she would be.

She takes one breath, then another, and the feeling is somehow so familiar— she doesn’t close her eyes but images begin to flash in her mind: a long hallway filled with doors, lipstick the colour of literal blood, blonde curls and high heels and a familiar face, covered in blood, a familiar voice, choked with pain—  ** _Shane_** _, tied to a chair, broken, bloody, and bruised, unable to breathe, trapped in the darkness, **hurting.**_   The whole dream comes flooding back in a heartbeat, and her vision blurs in panic.

Xiaolian is filled with pure fear and the river in her head is rushing, and somewhere in it she thinks she can hear Shane singing to. It’s too much. Tears stream down her face and she lets out a scream without realizing it.

This is, of course, audible through to the café.

James immediately stands up, coffee and waffle forgotten, and runs to the room he saw Xiaolian enter.

“Was that— _fuck_ ,” Cassandra says, running after him, Owen hot on her heels.

Andrew drops the knife he’d been using to chop strawberries and takes off into the back room.  Andrew, upon reaching the back room, is immediately looking for something that’s fallen, something that’s hurt her. “Xiaolian. What happened? Are you okay?” Upon seeing that nothing seems amiss, he comes to her side, and is looking at the bandage on her arm. “What’s going on? Are you hurting?”

Xiaolian looks at him. Her eyes have gone gold and she hasn’t stopped crying. The gold almost looks like it’s leaking into the tears. She grabs onto Andrew’s shirt. “S-Shane.”

Andrew freezes.  He takes a shaky breath, and looks her in the eye. “What about Shane, Xiaolian,” he says, quietly.

She lets out a sob. “We have to find him. He’s hurt. He’s hurt so much. Andrew, we need to find him  _now_ ”

“He’s… Xiaolian… Xiaolian, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Andrew’s arm twitches. “Calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“Okay Xiaolian. Breathe in, breathe out, slowly,” James says, in a low voice.

The river in her head goes silent – utterly silent. She stares at Andrew.  Owen kind of slides past everyone and sits next to her, carefully putting a hand on her arm.  Andrew stares back. His arm twitches again, and his breathing is  _way_  too level.

“…Liar,” she accuses.

He swallows. He looks like he did years ago, on Xiaolian’s first night helping with clean-up, when it was just them, and some random drunk dude banged on the window and shouted something about “I know you’re in there!” and Andrew just shut down. He looks like he’s barely holding himself together. She remembers Steven and Adam coming home minutes after, Steven whisking Andrew away to their bedroom, Adam helping her clean up, and steadfastly ignoring all her questions.  Except now, it’s only 9.45 or so, and Steven and Adam won’t be back for another hour at least. He’s on his own, and doing his best, but he’s tired. Xiaolian can see it. So can Owen – Andrew looks like he did last night, when Owen came home, and Owen told him he’d fought and killed a ghoul.

“Xiaolian,” James says, to catch her attention. “What did you see? What happened to Shane?”

Xiaolian glances at James but doesn’t bother to answer. She looks back at Andrew. Her hands tighten their grip on his shirt.

“What…” Andrew’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well. He is forcing this out, sound by sound, and his breathing is speeding up. “What … do you  _want_  from me…  _Xiaolian._ ”

“Hey,” Cassandra tries to intervene, but she’s not sure anyone is listening to her. “How about we all take a deep breath here…” She’s watching Andrew with concern now.

Xiaolian lets go of his shirt and stands shakily to her feet. “I don’t want anything from you specifically.” She wipes her tears away. “What I want is for this town to stop hiding things from me. What I want is to  _find Shane_.”

Andrew doesn’t move as Xiaolian stands up. Staring at the floor now, he manages to speak again, his voice approximating his normal tone: “Everything’s fine. You’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“Hey hey hey, let’s go check the bookstore.” James says in a kind voice. “He might be there, or he might have left a note if he left.”

Xiaolian laughs weakly at Andrew’s words. “If you honestly think I believe that, I must seem really stupid to you.” Xiaolian turns around and walks out of the back room.  Andrew doesn’t respond.

After Xiaolian leaves the room, Cassandra takes a couple of steps closer to Andrew, just so she can say in a low voice: “It’s alright. Just breathe. We’ll take care of her.”

He shudders, and still doesn’t respond. He’s staring off into middle-distance.

 “…I’m gonna go talk to her.” Owen leaves the room after her. “Xiaolian?”

Before James can leave the room after the other two, Cassandra says to him, “Make sure she doesn’t go far. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Andrew?” She turns back to the man, still a couple of feet away from him. Her voice is soft when she says, “That’s your name, correct? I’m Cassandra. It’s alright now. They’re gone. Can you take a deep breath for me?”

He breathes in, slowly and deeply, still nowhere near meeting her eyes.

“Thank you. Can I get closer?”

He nods, very slightly.

Cassandra steps closer, not  _too_  close that she’s in his personal space, but close enough that she can touch him – but she doesn’t, not yet. “Would you like to leave this room? Go outside, maybe?”

He swallows, and shakes his head. “Not … outside.”

“Alright. That’s fine,” Cassandra tries smiling, even if he’s not directly looking at her. “It’s calm in here, you’re right. If you want me to leave I can do that too. But right now I wanna help. How can I do that? How can I help you, Andrew?”

He lifts his hands, palms up, towards her. They’re trembling. He glances at her, then away, down at the floor. His eyes are red-rimmed.

Cass takes his hands, gently. She doesn’t try to squeeze them, but her grip is firm, steady; she wants him to know she’s there. “That better? I’m told I’m very good at hugs, too, if you need any of those.”

He blinks a couple times, then takes a single step towards her.

Smiling, Cass squeezes his hands for a second before she closes the distance in very deliberate movements, so he knows what she’s doing. She hugs him, one hand kindly guiding his head to her shoulder, and says, “It’s alright now. Remember to breathe. In, and then out. Like this.”

He breathes with her, slowly. His movements, as she guides him, are smooth: he’s done this dance before.

After a few breaths, he speaks. His voice is gravelly and low. “Thank you, stranger. …Sorry about that.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, fellow stranger. It happens,” Cass says with an easy smile. “Things seem to be quite intense around here, it can’t be easy.”

He sighs gently, and pulls back. His hands are still shaking a little, but his eyes are focused on her now. “It’s been a hell of a couple days.”

He finally looks at her as if he  _sees_  her, and squints a little. “…You’re Cassandra, aren’t you?”

“I… am? Have we met before?”

He shakes his head. “Not beyond here at the café, no, but I’ve seen you around. What are you in town for?”

“I’m doing my PhD, studying the community in Willow River…” She hesitates. She doesn’t want to be pushy, not now that Andrew has just calmed himself down, but she can’t help but ask: “May I ask what happened in the past couple days? Aside from, you know. The tragedy with the hitchhiker.” She tries to gauge his reaction, making sure she doesn’t get him upset again.

He looks at her for a moment, eyes back to their usual piercing acuity, and she gets the deeply unsettling feeling that he doesn’t believe her.

“…The aftermath thereof,” he says, mildly.  “Thank you again for your help. I’d better get back to the café – Steven and Adam aren’t back for another hour.” He smiles, nods at her, and retreats to the kitchen.

Cass watches him go, barely managing a wave before he’s gone.  _Well, you sure have your secrets._  She walks out of the room, looking for the others.  As Cass walks back to the main room, she catches a glimpse of Andrew on his phone in the back. The others seem to have left, except for Roan, who looks a little lost at their table full of waffles.


	2. Morning - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Disaster Family discover that Shane is not home, so they turn to Ryan for answers.

Xiaolian is making her way straight to the bookstore. The gold is gone from her eyes but she’s started crying again.  James is following behind Xiaolian, running as fast as he can but not catching up to her.  Owen was still following Xiaolian, too, running with James, wanting to make sure she was okay.

Xiaolian keeps replaying the dream over and over again in her mind. Something is telling her it isn’t just a dream.  She reaches the door of the bookstore, tugs on the handle, finds it locked tight. The lights are off – even the shutters are drawn. There is a piece of paper taped to the inside of the front door, which reads as follows, in Shane’s unmistakable scrawl: “Alshaytania is closed for the holidays.  Please forward any deliveries or inquiries to Ryan Bergara at the Willow River Paranormal Information Centre.  See you all later!”  He’s signed it, at the bottom.

James reaches the bookstore a moment after Xiaolian. He sees the piece of paper on the door. “Wh—what is that?” James says, winded from the run.

Xiaolian just stares at it. Inside her head, she’s fighting with herself on whether or not to believe the note.

Owen looks at the note, and then looks at James. “… What does that say?”

“It says… that the book store is closed for the holidays. Passover is next week. Why is it closed now?”

Xiaolian remembers that it was only Friday night that he brought her in from the woods… it’s only Sunday morning now. And since when did Shane observe holidays? He was about the least religious person she knew.  She rereads the note. It makes absolutely no sense. But it looks like she has only one option. Ryan.

“… Xiaolian?” Owen comes up behind her. “Please talk to me?”

Xiaolian rubs her face, trying to make sense of everything. She turns to Owen and opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She doesn’t know what to say. _Yeah, I think I had a vision about Shane being tortured last night_? Not a good idea.

James put his hand on Xiaolian’s shoulder. “Talk to us. We can help if we know what we are dealing with.”  Owen grabs James’s hand, not wanting to get into Xiaolian’s space.

Xiaolian nods and takes a deep breath. “So last night, I had a dream or— or more like a vision? I don’t know. But Shane was in trouble. Like really bad. And I have this feeling that if I don’t find him soon, something horrible is gonna happen.” She struggles to not stutter over her words.

James sighs. “Yeah, that sounds like a vision.” He thinks for a moment. “Someone in town must know something. That’s our starting point.” He smiles wearily and squeezes Owen’s hand reassuringly. “We’ll save him.”

Xiaolian can hardly believe it. James believes her, he’s gonna help her. Her eyes start watering again and she hugs him, burying her face in his chest. She lets out a soft “thank you.”

James is surprised by the hug, but hugs her back. “Every thing is gonna be fine, Xiaolian. We’re all in this together.”

Cassandra and Roan come up behind them, having arrived after paying for the waffles. It’s a touching scene, though it doesn’t explain much.  “Everything okay?” Cass asks as they catch up to them, trying to see Xiaolian’s face. “Xiaolian, what happened?”

James looks over Xiaolian’s head at Cassandra. “Shane’s in danger. We’re gonna go find him.”

“Which one’s Shane?” Roan asks.

“He owns the bookstore. He’s important to Xiaolian.” James holds back his own growing suspicions about Shane. Saving him is the first priority, everything else can fall to the side for now.

“Sure thing.” Roan bites back a groan. They’re kind of tempted to go get their van and leave but this is the closest they’ve came to actually getting any sort of idea about their weird powers. They just have to make sure that they don’t get complacent and hurt someone accidentally again.

“Tall guy, long limbs? I think I remember him,” Cassandra says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Yeah, Shane Madej. Knows a whole lot about his business.” She looks up at them, then at the store. “What kind of danger is he in?”

Xiaolian looks at Cass but stays in the hug. “He’s being held somewhere. And he’s being tortured.”

“Tortured?” Cassandra is alarmed. This isn’t a ghoul hunt in the woods. Torture means there’s something else— _someone_  else behind it. “Do you know where?”

Xiaolian shakes her head. “I just saw the hallway it was in.”

“Alright. Alright, that could be helpful,” Cassandra doesn’t ask Xiaolian how she could have seen it, but a chill runs down her spine. If Xiaolian can somehow see things… “Think back to the corridor: were there any windows? The walls, was it panelling, stonework…?”

“It was um…it was concrete. A— and the doors were steel, I think? I don’t know.” Xiaolian can feel her anxiety rising just thinking about that awful place. It was so cold, so empty.

“It’s okay, Xiaolian. You’re here, and we are gonna save Shane.” He smooths down her hair. “We should go talk to someone in town. Ryan might know something.”

Xiaolian nods. “Y— yeah. Besides the sign says to talk to him anyways.”

Concrete and steel. Aside from the morgue they have been to, Cassandra can’t think of any place like that in town – hopefully Ryan Bergara can help with that. “Let’s do it, then.”

James steps back from the hug, still keeping his hands on Xiaolian’s shoulders. He smiles at her. “Come on, let’s go talk to Ryan.”

They head into town, towards the Information Centre. A few minutes’ walk, and they’re there: Ryan’s house-slash-business. The door is closed, and the lights in the front section are off, but the blinds on one window are open and they can see a light on in the back hallway.

Xiaolian looks at James. “Should we knock or…”

“Might work.” James knocks on the door. “Ryan?” He shouts. “We need to talk to you.”

No answer.  Finally, after a solid minute of silence, the light flicks on in the front room, and Ryan opens the front door. He looks about as tired as Banjo did last night, possibly even more so – his eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, he’s wearing clothes that have to have seen at least three mornings in a row, and he’s sporting more of a beard than any of them have ever seen him sport. In short, he looks like hell. This isn’t helped by the fact that his left forearm is in a cast.

“Afraid the centre’s closed today, folks,” he says. His voice is raspy and tired. “Sorry.”

Xiaolian hesitates, but speaks up anyway. “Ryan, do you know where Shane is?”

He doesn’t react, just keeps the dead-eyed stare. “Taking some time off.”

“…What happened to your arm?” Owen asks.

He flicks his eyes to Owen. “Hunting accident.” His voice is monotone and dead.

James looks Ryan dead on the eyes. “The ghoul?”

He literally just does not answer. It’s like he’s run out of fucks to give. He just looks at James, then looks away again.

“Ryan,” Cassandra speaks up, voice firm but gentle. “We know Shane’s not okay. We’re here to help. We  _can_  help.”

“Look, we know something is happening. Let us help!” James is fed up with this town’s mysteries.

Ryan looks up at Cassandra, and she sees something else in his eyes for just a second— and then it’s gone again, as he looks back at James. “You folks know an awful lot for having just rolled into town,” he says, “but believe me when I say there’s not much you can do at this point.”  He swallows hard, and half-turns to go back in the house. “I’d suggest moving on with your lives. There’s nothing for you here in Willow River.”

Xiaolian’s voice is quiet. “I saw him, Ryan.”

He freezes for a second, catching himself before he looks at Xiaolian. “I’m sure you did,” he says, “he was here Friday. He’s just gone away for a while – he’ll come back.”  He looks back at her and attempts to smile. It … really doesn’t work. “Don’t worry about him. He can handle himself.”

“Last night, Ryan. I saw him and … and whoever the lady is that’s holding him.”

He doesn’t quite catch the twitch in his jaw this time.  He turns away again, back into the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Xiaolian.”

James slams his fist onto the wall. “Can’t we have a  _fucking conversation_  in this town?!”

Xiaolian flinches. James is scary when he’s mad.  Owen squeezes Xiaolian’s hand, also a little scared.

Ryan turns, slowly, to face James. He’s not angry – he’s exhausted. But he’s forceful, and he’s firm. “You want to have a  _conversation?_  You want to  _talk?_ Then how about  _you start first._  You don’t get to waltz into town and assume we’re going to suddenly divulge all our secrets,  _which we keep for good reason_ , just because you want us to. You’ve given us  _no reason to trust you_ – in fact, you’ve given us the opposite. You know far more than you should. How do I know  _you didn’t do this?”_

James clenches his fists and exhales through his nose forcefully.  “My name is James Finn, from the family Tombalbaye. I’ve been hunting monsters all my life. My family probably knows more about hunting monsters than this whole town combined. I came here  _to help_  so please.  _Let. Me. Help._ We killed the ghoul in the woods, found a fucked up door in the morgue, and Xiaolian has seen where Shane is! We just want to find him!”

Ryan sighs, heavily. “See, now, why didn’t you fuckin’  _lead_  with that.” He rubs a hand over his face – his right hand, of course. “…Finding him isn’t the problem,” he says, softly, eyes hidden in his hand, “at least, not yet.” He steps back, and holds the door open for them to come in.

Xiaolian walks in but keeps quiet. She has a lot going on in her head.

“Yeah, like I could walk into town saying all that shit.” James mutters quietly under his breath as he follows Ryan.

Ryan throws him a look. “You figured shit out here fast enough, I’m sure you could have spent a little focus on  _who to say the useful things to_  instead of  _skulking around_  and  _breaking into morgues._ ”

Once everyone is in, Ryan closes and locks the door, checks the locks on the windows, shuts the blind that was open on the one window, and turns the light off. He leads them into the back of the house, checking every window on the way, and double-locking the back door.

He then leads them into his work room, where he carefully takes a bulletin board down off one wall and reveals a door, which he unlocks and opens, revealing stairs going down. He motions. “Stop at the landing.”

Once they’ve all gone past him into the dimly lit staircase, he backs up into the doorway, carefully rehanging the bulletin board from the inside, and closes and locks the door behind them. He then passes in front of them, and leads the way down the staircase.  The stairs go down about half a dozen steps to a landing, then make a ninety-degree turn and continue down about a dozen more steps. At the base of the stairs is another door: it is made of smooth metal, and does not appear to have any means of opening it.

He approaches the door and presses his hands against it in one, two, three places. A couple of the positions look a little painful due to the cast, but he manages. As he takes his hands off the third time, a tiny little window opens at eye level in the door, and he leans in, scanning first one retina, then the other. At last, the door slides to the side, and he leads them forward into a spacious room that is at least twice as big as the house above them.

There are multiple sections to the room. Half of the far wall is covered in pegboard, with a long worktable underneath it, tools and materials hanging and stacked around, ranging from very basic to very esoteric; the other half of the same wall is covered in display cases, cupboards, and shelves, on which are machines and boxes and more tools and at least a dozen weapons.  There’s a section of the room that’s been walled off, with what looks like an intricate climate control panel by the door.   Another half of a wall is taken up by server stacks, which are humming quietly, coolant lines slipping in and out of their blinking lights; next to the servers is a half wall-slash-alcove full of computer equipment – half a dozen monitors, a standing desk covered in electronics, at least two custom-built PC towers tucked in amongst more coolant lines, microphones hanging from the ceiling and soundproofing boards set up around the whole thing on movable frameworks.  There’s a massive, gorgeous, solid-oak table in the middle of the room, which is covered in papers, models, and gadgets, and surrounded by matching chairs; and finally, in the corner, there’s a kitchenette, with a half-full pot of coffee, a small pile of dishes in the sink, a futon with blankets and a pillow tossed on it haphazardly, and a red plaid flannel shirt hanging on a coat rack next to the way-out-of-style fridge, which looks like the sort of thing you’d hide from a nuclear explosion in, if you were in a terrible movie sequel.

Ryan sits down at the oak table, and picks up a red pen, twiddling it between his fingers. He motions to the other chairs. “What do you know,” he says. It’s not a question. He’s too tired for questions. They get the distinct feeling that he just can’t care anymore, and that’s the only reason they’re down here: he hasn’t got the energy to keep any more secrets.


	3. Morning - III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan gathers the Willow Guard, and Xiaolian tells them what she saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over italicised foreign language text for translations! (Mobile and tablet users, please see the ending notes.) These are not written by native speakers by any means, please forgive the inevitable terrible errors if you are a speaker!

James is still annoyed at this whole situation, but knows this isn’t the time to be difficult. He pulls his journal out of his coat. “Well, there was an archghoul in the woods, which accounts for the half-eaten bodies that showed up. No explanation for the lights, though we saw the sky light up before we encountered the ghoul. Also, whatever it was made my car stall. And… Xiaolian’s vision.” James looks over to her, nudging her to talk.

Xiaolian looks at James and then down at the table. “I saw him last night. There was this really long hallway. It was cement, really really smooth cement. And there were hundreds of these steel doors lining it.”

Ryan listens, nodding slightly along with James’ account. As Xiaolian speaks, he closes his eyes and drops his head to his chest.  “Alright,” he says, not looking up, “anything else?”

“Xiaolian, is there anything else you can remember? Any figures, phrases you may have heard?”

“Tell me exactly what you saw,” Ryan adds, his voice more dead than the archghoul’s severed head.

“I, u— um.” Xiaolian starts to stammer over her words.

“Just walk me through it, step by step. What’s the first thing you saw?” He sounds like he’s walked many other people through this.  He pauses for a moment, then peeks up at her. “I could call Adam to come over, if you like. He’s very good at calming people down in stressful situations.”

Xiaolian shakes her head. “It’s fine. I can do this. Just…just give me a second to get it in order.”

Owen grabs Xiaolian’s hand, trying to comfort her. “Adam  _is_  really helpful,” he says softly.

Ryan glances at Owen. “Do  _you_  want me to call Adam? If the cat’s gonna be out of the bag, may as well get everyone involved…”

Owen hesitates for a moment, remembering how Adam, Andrew, and Steven had told him to tell him when he was doing things. Did this count…?  “Uh, yeah, okay?”

Ryan pulls out his phone, notices something on it, frowns, and takes a moment before dialing a number. It rings once, twice… “Hey Adam. Bad time? … Yeah, I got Andrew’s message too. That’s actually what I’m calling about. Consider the code white confirmed. … Mm hmm. … Yeah. Yeah, I know. … Um,” he pauses, looking at the group of them. “…yellow?” Then he rubs his hand over his face again and scratches at his beard. “God, Adam, I don’t know. We’re rapidly approaching purple, honestly, but we’re all so goddamn tired, so I dunno. Yellow for sure, specifically requested. …Ask Andrew his opinion.” A longer pause. It stretches on. Clearly, Adam is away from the phone, talking to Andrew. Finally, “Yeah, m’still here. …oh shit, man, really? Well then. Purple it is, I guess. Okay. See you soon.”

He hangs up the phone and puts it down on the table, face up. “Adam will be joining us shortly.” He stands up and goes to the kitchenette, and starts making coffee. “Xiaolian, seeing as whatever you saw seems to be particularly hard on you, I doubt you want to say it twice. Let’s wait for Adam. In the meantime,” he gestures to them with his arm in a cast, “if anyone has questions for me, go ahead.”

“There’s room for a lot of people down here,” Cassandra says, eyeing the table. “Aside from the trio from the cafe, and Shane Madej, I’m assuming… Who else is part of this?”

Cassandra’s well-trained eye catches Ryan’s slight slump and grip of the countertop when she mentions Shane – but then he’s back up and normal. “Active hunters? Andrew, Adam, Steven, Shane,” he swallows, “Banjo, Francesca, Holly, and Cece. Domhnall and Raj at the clinic help out but they don’t hunt. There are a few other people who know and help with the logistics, but that’s it.”

She makes sure to discreetly type the names in her phone. “We met Banjo yesterday,” Cass says, trying a gentler tone than before. “He knows we’re willing to help, too.”

Ryan smiles very faintly as he turns away from the coffeemaker, which is now brewing. “Based on the fact that you gave him a pair of bodies last night, I’m not terribly surprised. Honestly, I’m more surprised you didn’t go straight to him this morning.”

“Well, if we are waiting,” James says, “Xiaolian, let me check your wound. It’s probably healed enough to just wrap it up for a day or two.” James reaches his hand out to her.

Ryan looks over at them. “Do you have extra bandages on you? If not, I can grab some.”

Xiaolian holds her arm out to James, and he carefully unwraps the bandages.  “Yeah, I meant to do this at breakfast,” he says.  The wound is mostly healed by now. “It will be fine in a few days.” He carefully wipes the remaining herbs off her arm and pulls a fresh bandage out of his pocket. He places it on and lightly taps it. “You’re all good.” James smiles at her.

“Thanks dad,” she says.

Ryan watches, then nods. “That’s nice work. I’d ask what natural remedies you’re using but that’s really not my area, it’d probably go right over my head. You want Domhnall or Banjo for most of that.”

“Yeah, the waraqat alshifa’ is a pretty rare plant. Really useful at healing flesh wounds, though.”

“That sounds like Arabic.” Ryan laughs ruefully.

It’s right about then that the door swishes open and Adam walks in. He looks like he’s come straight from somewhere that’s definitely not the café: he’s wearing a lightly checkered white and red collared dress shirt, dark brown slacks, and a black leather belt.  He looks at Ryan, then around the room at the others. “Who am I here for?” he asks. He looks at Xiaolian, then Owen, questioningly.

Ryan looks at them too, then back at Adam. “Xiaolian has something to tell us that sounds pretty stressful, but Owen’s the one who requested you.”

“Um… hi, Adam,” Owen says softly.  “You said to tell you if I was doing anything.  I think this counts.”

“Sure does,” he agrees, looking between him and Xiaolian. “Well, I can probably handle both these two.” He smiles gently, pulls up a chair between them and sits down. “We’re all gonna be okay.” The room feels warmer. Even Ryan’s shoulders seem to relax slightly.  Xiaolian’s chest loosens a little and she can feel her breathing normalize.  Adam puts his hand on Owen’s knee, comfortingly.

Ryan looks at Xiaolian and comes back over to the table. “Do you want to get this retelling over with before everyone else gets here? If so, may I have your permission to record it for the rest of them? I don’t want to put you under more stress, but I suspect we’ll all need to know this.”

Xiaolian bites her lip before she nods. “I’ll tell it as many times as you want and you can record but on one condition.” She looks at James. “I want my sword.”

Ryan frowns a little. “We typically keep a no-weapons-in-hand policy down here…also,” he looks puzzled, “where did you get a sword?”

James nods. “I’ll go get it. Where did you leave it? As… long as it’s allowed.” He looks to Ryan for permission.

Xiaolian looks at Ryan. “From an old Asian man in the woods. And trust me, if you want to get the most info possible, I’m going to need my sword.”

“You’re safe as houses down here,” he says. “I’m so confused.” He looks to Adam, who thinks for a moment, then nods. “Alright,” Ryan says, “Go for it.”  To James, he adds, “The doors will open for you on the way out, and lock behind you: knock on the front door in a three-four-three pattern when you get back, and one of us will let you back in.”

“Got it.” James leaves the room and drives to Xiaolian’s house. He finds the sword and returns to Ryan’s home/business. He also decides to bring a few of his own journals down as well. He gets to the door and knocks in the pattern Ryan told him.  He is met, about thirty seconds later, by Andrew, who ushers him inside and leads him back through the layers of security. James finds that in his absence, several more members of the Willow River community have joined the Council of Elrond, so to speak: Andrew, Banjo, and Cecilia.

He nods a hello to the new people. He keeps his coat very much on, more of a comfort thing rather than hiding anything: he left all his weapons in his car. He walks over and hands Xiaolian her sword.

Ryan speaks. “Alright. So. Xiaolian has her sword – I think there’s more to that story, for the record, but perhaps another time – and I think that’s everyone we’re going to get this morning.”  Ryan goes over to the computer alcove and comes back with a small black box, which he sets in front of Xiaolian. He presses a few buttons and a small screen lights up, along with a red LED light. “Whenever you’re ready, Xiaolian, go ahead.”

She takes a deep breath before she unsheathes the sword.  The flames lick up along it, slowly. She’s much more in control than she used to be: they’re small flames, like the end of a campfire. Ryan and Cecilia startle slightly at the sudden flames, Adam and Andrew look surprised, and Banjo doesn’t bat an eye.  She gauges their reactions and when she doesn’t sense any negative emotions, she’s ready. Her volume is low, tone is pleading. “Zhiqiang, I need you.”

After just a moment, as if he, too, is reading the room, Zhiqiang flows out from the flames. He’s a little smaller than he was in the forest – a more manageable, indoor size, as it were. He swirls around her neck and hangs himself on her: he’s incorporeal, mostly, but still feels warm and comforting – much like Adam’s presence, actually.  This gets considerably more reaction: Ryan gasps aloud, Cecilia’s jaw drops and her eyes widen, Adam looks intrigued, Andrew twitches and pushes his chair back very slightly, and Banjo raises an eyebrow and half-grins.

Xiaolian flushes at the loud reaction from Ryan. “Um, this is Zhiqiang.” She pokes him from he’s hanging off of her. “You willing to say hi or no?”  Zhiqiang rumbles softly, a deep sort of purr.

Banjo speaks, quietly. “If he is what I think he is, he’ll likely only be audible to you. Though it’s not typical that anyone else can  _see_  something like him, either, so he could prove me  _very_  wrong.” He stands up, puts his pipe down on the table, and bows respectfully. “ _Wènhòu, róngxìng zhǐnán_.” His accent’s not great, but he’s intelligible.  Zhiqiang looks, curiously, at Banjo, then dips his head in a nod before nestling closer to Xiaolian. Banjo takes his seat again.

James sneakily writes down a little of what Banjo says into the journal on dragons.

Xiaolian nods and strokes his scales. “Okay, this might take a while so if you could all please be patient with me. Mind you, I literally just found out I could do this.”

Everyone around the table nods.  “Of course,” Banjo says. “We all started sometime.”

“Take your time,” Ryan says, “that recorder will go for hours.”

Xiaolian nods. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, she focuses on the feeling of Zhiqiang around her neck. The sound of the river is quiet but obvious in her mind. She blocks out everyone else in the room. After a few minutes of slow breathing, she opens her eyes again. They’re gold again, but it’s a softer tone. “There’s…there’s a hallway. A long long hallway. It’s smooth, concrete. And it’s cold. So cold.”

The locals share a look, then return to watching Xiaolian.

Xiaolian keeps going. “And doors, hundreds of cold steel doors. And I could hear  _her_  walking. She’s in heels. They’re loud compared to how quiet it was before.” She shivers for second, thinking about it.

Cecilia opens her mouth, but Banjo holds up a hand, and she closes it again.

“She stopped at a door. I don’t know which one, I can’t see the number on it. Locks. There’s multiple locks. Keypad, deadbolt, fingerprint reader and…a retina scanner?”

Cecilia emits a low whistle. Ryan shoots her a look.  Even though the whistle is low, it’s enough to break Xiaolian’s concentration. She blinks and the gold is gone. She can feel the beginnings of a headache.

Cecilia immediately looks contrite. “I’m so sorry, Xiaolian. I was just…shocked.”   

Banjo leans forward. “Headache coming on?” His voice is soft. “If you focus on your friend there, he should be able to help you back in. And I’ve got something that can help you out when you come up at the end.”

Xiaolian clicks her tongue. “Bolin told me to say no to drugs.” Taking Banjo’s advice, she closes her eyes again, focusing on Zhiqiang’s comforting presence. She’s quicker to tap back into her powers this time. “There’s a window but it’s too dark to see through.” Xiaolian frowns. “Gold hair. Red lips. I don’t know the code. She opens the door. She’s talking. I don’t like the voice. It sounds like a knife to your back. She wants him to talk. He won’t.”

Zhiqiang slides gently along her neck, nuzzling his snout in behind her ear. As she focuses, he feels more corporeal: warmer and more solid. The headache lessens as he begins to purr gently.

“The light turns on. It’s bright now. Too bright. A chair. Legs. Long, pale. Bright red heels. Nice clothes. A pendant. Rings. Red lips. Gold hair. She’s smiling. But it’s cold, colder than the hall. And then  _Shane._ ” Xiaolian pushes past her throat tightening. “Blood. His face, his clothes, even the floor. Bloody. Bruises are everywhere, even on his ribs. He’s struggling to breath.” Tears start to leak from her eyes.

Cassandra looks at the others. She’s worried, both for Xiaolian and for Shane.  Banjo looks exhausted. Cecilia looks angry. Andrew is staring at a spot on the wall, nowhere near Xiaolian. Adam closes his eyes, and just breathes gently.  Ryan, on the other hand, is staring intensely at Xiaolian. He is gripping his hands together on top of the table; his knuckles are white, but his eyes are red-rimmed. His jaw is clenched; a muscle is twitching in it and he looks like he’s swallowing convulsively.

“She has him tied down to his chair. Steel. The chair’s bolted down. His shoes are gone. His clothes are torn and red. They weren’t red before.” The tears start to run even faster but she doesn’t stop. “His back. It burns. There’s lines, cross hatched, on his back. They burn too. She’s talking, he’s talking. Chaos. Somewhere else, some _when_ else. It’s loud. There’s gun fire and then it stops. It stops because he yelled. He’s told them it’s him.”

Cecilia has clamped a hand over her mouth. Andrew looks like he’s a million miles away. Banjo is looking down, at the table. Adam makes a move as if to take Xiaolian’s hand, but stops himself so as not to disturb her.  And Ryan, getting tenser and tenser with each word, finally covers his own mouth at Xiaolian’s last sentences, screwing his eyes shut and silencing what is absolutely, one hundred percent, a sob.

James feels bad. He feels the pain for Shane. He could barely imagine the man with the smile made of sunlight being tortured. He barely knows the man, but feels a strong need to help him.

Xiaolian is still going but her sentences are broken up by sobs. Her heart is hurting. Her heart is hurting because a piece of it is missing, locked in a dark room in a cold hallway. “Back in the room. He can’t see. The blood in his hair is in now in his eyes. Gold hair. Red lips. Pale hand. She’s cleaning up some of the blood. But it hurts, his face is cut. She says she could clean him up. He spits. Red blood on red lips. He’s made of blood. Blood, sweat and tears. He’s broken bones and broken hearts.”

Ryan gets up, as silently as he can, and walks several steps away from the table. He’s shaking.

James leans down and places his hand on Xiaolian’s. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Focus.” James quietly whispers, afraid his action will disturb her.

Xiaolian calms down slightly, but she’s still crying. “She can’t kill him. He tells her that. She can’t kill him, killing him means she loses. Red and gold. Smiling. She says it’s okay, because she can still have fun. She’s touching his face. She says there’s a lot to learn. She kisses his forehead and red mixes with red. She’s gone. The light is gone. He’s alone. He’s crying. But you can’t hear it, he doesn’t want her to hear it. Better me than you, little guy.” Xiaolian gasps and her eyes return to normal. But now she’s hurting. Her head and her heart is hurting. She can’t stop the broken sobs and she curls up in the chair.

At the last sentence, Ryan can’t stop himself any longer: he  _keens_ , his mouth pressed against his cast, his other hand gripping the back of the chair so hard you’d think it would crack.  Cecilia stands up and goes to him, puts her hands on his shoulders and leans her head against his. They are both facing away from the group.

Banjo looks over at James and Xiaolian, then gets up and goes to fill a glass of water, placing it in front of Xiaolian on the table, along with a small bottle of plain old Tylenol, which he pulls from his jacket.

James wraps his arms around Xiaolian, shushing her. “You did a great job. Okay? You’ve helped us so much.”

She nods and hides her face in his shoulder. She’s still crying, and shaking.  Zhiqiang moves, sliding down around her torso to curl up on her lap.

Adam has one hand on Andrew’s shoulder, and offers the other to Owen, watching him carefully, asking him silently if he’s okay.  Owen takes the hand, looking outwardly stressed, but not saying anything.

Cassandra is watching Xiaolian, fists clenched in worry. She tries to take the attention off her, tries to give her the second of peace she needs, saying to the rest of the room in a low voice, “Does anyone have any idea where that is?”

Adam holds Owen’s hand gently, runs his thumb over the back of it, and squeezes Andrew’s shoulder with the other. He looks to Banjo, and Banjo nods.  Adam starts speaking, also in a low voice – it’s resonant and soft, peaceful and calming. “Yes, we know where that is. We know where Shane is, and I suspect we even know who the woman Xiaolian described is.”

Meanwhile, Ryan has started outright weeping, and Cecilia has taken him into her arms and is shushing him gently.

James looks up at them, still hugging Xiaolian. He spends a second looking between everyone in the room. “That sounds ominous.”

Xiaolian looks up at James, frantic. “I don’t want to lose someone else, James. Please, I can’t.” Her voice cracks on “can’t” and she breaks down again.

“Shh, shh. You aren’t gonna lose him. They know where he is.” James begins rocking slightly to calm the crying girl.

Cassandra is starting to feel restless. She stands up, “Well, where is it, then? What are we waiting for?”

Adam sighs softly, takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes. “If everyone could just wait a moment…” he murmurs.

The room quiets, apart from the sounds of Ryan and Xiaolian crying – it’s only for a moment, everyone can feel the tension in the air about to break and several people have their mouths open as if to speak – and then Adam takes another deep breath, and begins to  _glow_ : a soft white light outlines him, and Owen is the first to feel a wave of warmth pass through his hand, like a blanket fresh out of a dryer. The wave passes through all of them, bringing deep calm and comfort. They are all affected equally, meaning those in greater distress are still in distress, but the general tension relaxes at least a little bit.

He opens his eyes: they are also glowing gently. “Now that we can all talk without anyone doing anything  _rash_ ,” he says with a soft smile, “we can tell you more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> “Wènhòu, róngxìng zhǐnán.” [Greetings, honoured guide.]


	4. Morning - IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questions begin to get answers.

“…What just happened?” Owen asks Adam softly.

Adam looks over at Owen: his gaze feels warm and very intense. “Just a particularly helpful trick I keep up my sleeve.”

“Handy trick, night light.” James says over Xiaolian’s head.

Adam grins. “Xiaolian used to call it that, when she was little enough that I could use it without her remembering.”

Xiaolian’s head snaps up, and it slams into the underside of James’s jaw. “ _What?_ ” She looks at Adam. “So my memories of a star talking to me, those weren’t just me being a kid?!”

Adam chuckles. “Well, I mean, I’m not a star.”

James hisses at the pain in his jaw. “You seem better now, _alsghyr_.” He smiles at her.

She gives him a guilty look. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to do that.” She wipes away her tears. She’s still very shaken and sad but she knows how to bury feelings. Besides Adam is glowing, and not because of a good skin care routine.

“Alright,” Adam says, “first of all, thank you for bringing this to us. We’re not used to folks like you arriving in groups at very convenient times being  _good_  for Willow River – in fact, it’s usually  _really_  bad. So: sorry we didn’t trust you.

“Second, I think it’s only fair we share how that night went for us.” He looks around the room: Banjo nods silently, Andrew doesn’t respond (he’s still staring off into space), and Cecilia looks over Ryan’s shoulder and frowns, then nods. “But before we do that, I’ll answer your questions, so we’re all on the same footing.

“Shane is almost certainly being held in an underground base in Mount Perseus, which is about two hundred and thirty kilometers to the southeast of Willow River. It’s only accessible on foot and it belongs to an group calling themselves the Rift-seekers. 

“The woman Xiaolian saw is probably someone called Irina. At least, that’s the name we’ve picked up in the messages we’ve intercepted. She seems to be their leader. She’s … not very nice.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re—” Cassandra starts, then stops suddenly, looking around the room. She doesn’t want to overstep. She continues, slower this time. “If you know where he is, does that mean you know how to get him out of there?”

“Well…” Adam says, slowly, “we know, in theory, how to get him out. The problem is that the Rift-seekers are incredibly well-armed, well-prepared, and they’re not averse to killing – and they have more people than we do, even with you.”

Roan awkwardly raises their hand. “Why are the called the Rift-seekers? Is it like a _Doctor Who_ reference?”

Owen decides that instead of asking all the questions he has, he’ll just jump in with the most recent question. “What’s Doctor Who?”

Roan chokes on air. “Dude, I gotta show you _Doctor Who_ after this shitshow’s over. It’s a British TV show. It’s awesome.”

He nods, understanding about half of the words that they say to him. “Okay?”

Adam can’t help a little huff of laughter. “Unintentionally, I guess. Willow River is very close to what we call a nexus – a point where the universes collide. They’re places of great power. The Rift-seekers are looking for it.”

“So exactly like _Doctor Who_ then,” Roan confirms.

James rubs his face and sighs, laughing a little. He rests his head on top of Xiaolian’s head and looks at the group talking about _Doctor Who_. 

“Why are they looking for it, exactly?” Cassandra asks.

“Because they want to open it,” Banjo says from his spot kneeling beside Xiaolian, a tinge of sadness in his voice. “It’s a toss-up, when someone finds out about a nexus like this, what they’re going to want to do with it. Some people want to stay away from it; weird shit happens near a nexus. Some people want to figure out how to harness it to benefit others. And some people want to figure out how to get into it, or harness it, for the sole purpose of making themselves more powerful – either to control others, or to wreak havoc.”

“So,” James chimes in, “the basic evil villain plot where even if they succeed, they are probably gonna fuck up and kill themselves. Like in _Indiana Jones_.” 

“I mean … it’s certainly a possibility,” Banjo says, smiling sardonically. “Unfortunately, these guys seem to know what they’re doing a little more than your average Indy villain.”

At that moment, a sharp knocking is heard through the room, in the three-four-three pattern: it’s the front door alarm, fed through the house’s integrated circuitry.  Cecilia frowns. “Who else is coming?”

Adam shakes his head. “I didn’t think anyone was.”

Cassandra looks like she wants to say something, but instead she watches the conversation, alert at the alarm. 

Ryan snuffles a breath, his face still buried in Cecilia’s shoulder. “It’s…” He swallows, and lifts his head. “It’s Mikaere. I sent them a message before James left.”

“Ah,” Banjo says, standing up. “I’ll go let them in.” He heads up the stairs.

“Adam,” Cassandra uses the opportunity to speak up. “You said these people have greater numbers than we do, and they’re well-armed. What would we need to at least make it a fair fight? If there’s going to be a fight…”

Adam considers the question for a moment. “We went in with a team of five – Ryan, Cecilia, Banjo, Francesca, and Holly. And … well, even if the rest of us had been there, I don’t know that it would have made a difference. And that’s saying something, adding Shane, Andrew, and myself. They … “ He sighs. “They knew things they shouldn’t have known.”

Cecilia frowns. “There are a few people I’d love to have on our team if we took them on again, frontal assault style. My old partner, for one, but  _that’s_  not an option. I’d want the doctors in the back, and maybe we drum up some old supports. But that’s  _if_  we take them head-on again, which I think is the dumbest thing since last Friday night. We have no bargaining chips any more.”

The door opens, and Banjo returns, Mik on his heels.  Mik is clutching their backpack to their chest, wild-eyed and wind-blown from the walk over. They stand in the doorway, looking everyone over. “Okay,” they say, “Okay, how are we going to get him back?”

“Welp, _that’s_ straight to the point,” James says.

Cecilia, Banjo, and Adam narrow their eyes. “How much do you know?” Cecilia says, suspicious.

Mik gives them a hard look, clearly reticent to talk too much about where they’ve been. “Enough.” 

Ryan extracts himself from Cecilia’s arms, and turns to face the group. His eyes are red and bloodshot; he wipes at them with his shirtsleeve. “Mik’s been in the sanctum for the past couple days,” he says, and immediately the narrowed eyes turn to raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, cool, what _is_ that?” James asks, a little testily.

Confused but paying attention still, Cass takes out her phone and starts typing notes, looking names up.  Ryan looks at Mik. “… I think it’s ultimately up to you how much you think you ought to share, Mikaere, given the nature of your little staycation.”

“I don’t know how much I can talk about, but…” they trail off, thinking. “I’ve been looking after some things for Shane. He needed me to stay in the sanctum in case whatever it is he went out to do the other night went wrong. Judging by the fact that he never came back, I’m guessing it did, but I’ve got some information from the sanctum, and I think I can help get him back.”

Cass looks up from her phone. “What information?”

Xiaolian jerks in James’s arms. “You can get him back?”  James runs his hands up and down Xiaolian’s arms to soothe her, but he is listening intently to Mikaere.

Mik notices that their backpack seems to be moving slightly.  “Hey, Xiaolian.” Mikaere loosens their hold on the backpack, and moves to crouch down by Xiaolian’s chair and comfort her. “I’m going to try my best, I promise. And Shane’s more capable than you’d think. He’s going to be alright. Are  _you_  okay?”

 “I…..I’ll be okay when Shane’s okay. I know what he’s capable of but I saw what she was capable of and I—” Xiaolian chokes on her words.

“He’ll be okay. I know he will. We’ve just gotta go and get him, because he’s got this whole kinda pretentious martyr thing going on…” Mik pats her back. Something is poking insistently at the zipper at the top of Mik’s backpack.  “Hey. D’you wanna see something cool?”

Banjo stifles a laugh with a cough, Cecilia’s eyes open slightly, and Ryan looks vaguely murderous.

James sees the movement in Mik’s backpack. “Uh what the fuck?” He points at the bag.

Mik grins at James, and unzips the backpack.  …Nothing seems to be moving anymore.  Mik frowns. They reach into the backpack and pull out an iPad, turning it over in their hands. They seem to be whispering to it.

It’s a nice iPad. Shiny. Unscratched.  Roan feels their eyebrows shoot up. Somehow  _this_  is the weirdest thing they’ve witnessed in the past few days

James nods encouragingly. “Th— that’s a cool iPad.”

Mik taps the screen gently. “…Minerva?”

Xiaolian gives Mikaere a quick _what the fuck is up with you_ look.

Mik smiles apologetically at Xiaolian. “Uh…”

Ryan chuckles, a little watery-sounding. “You did just say that Shane has a ‘pretentious martyr thing’ going on… she’s _rather_ fond of the man.”

Mik raises an eyebrow at the iPad. “Do you want to prove me wrong, or…?”

She wiggles. Somehow, it registers as indignant.

Xiaolian’s eyes go wide. “it just fucking wiggled.”

Roan’s face lights up. “A sentient iPad? That’s amazing! Can they talk? Or is it a body language thing?”

Mik rolls their eyes. “Yeah, she does a lot more than that.” They hold the iPad up. “I brought you along because I need your help, you little shit. Stop playing dead.”

She wiggles again, and flashes up the first page of a webcomic, titled “Stand Still, Stay Silent”.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?”

She shakes sideways quickly, then shows the words “perfectly normal, nothing to see here”.

Mik snorts. “You can trust these people, Min. If Ryan’s willing to tell them about the sanctum, I think they’re safe.”

Minerva pauses, then just shows a picture of a clip-art heart.

“Is— is it communicating?! With images?!” James is completely star struck, eyes wide.

“…What  _is_  that…?” Owen asks, finally speaking up.

“I’m too tired for this,” Xiaolian moans.

Cassandra, who has been watching the exchange with wide eyes, shakes her head as if trying to keep focused. “You still haven’t told us how that’s gonna help rescue Shane.”

“This is Minerva. Uhh…” Mik gestures to Roan. “This person – have we met? I’m Mikaere,  _kia ora_ – had it about right. She’s a talking iPad. And—” they bop Minerva gently on the screen— “if she’d been a bit more cooperative, we wouldn’t have gotten so off-track. I’m sorry about all this.” 

Roan waves. “I’m Roan. I think I came into the bookshop when you were working a few times.”

James turns to look at Owen. “iPads are devices that have many uses. You can communicate with them, look up information, and even play games. And this iPad,” he turns to look at Minerva, “is amazing!”

Mik rolls their eyes. “You’ll give her a big head,” they say.

“I’m going to fucking shit myself,” Xiaolian mutters.  “What is even going on anymore?”

“Honestly, I’m with Xiaolian,” Roan says. “What’s going on? What’s the plan? What’s happening? How soon can I get coffee?”

Mik clears their throat. “Yeah, I really didn’t mean to distract everyone.” They look up at Ryan. “This is a planning meeting, right? Have we got a plan yet?” 

Ryan opens his mouth to answer Mik, but is interrupted by Andrew, whom everyone suddenly realizes hasn’t said anything (or possibly blinked) in something like half an hour – he suddenly grabs Adam’s forearm, hard and fast enough to make even Adam startle slightly. “Yes, Andrew?” he says, calmly. “What is it?”

Andrew’s eyes have literally glazed over; there’s an iridescent quality to them, like an oil slick.  Adam turns fully to Andrew, taking both his hands in his. “Talk to me, Drew,” he says softly.

Andrew shudders; his hands twitch. He mouths something, but it’s inaudible. Adam leans in, putting his ear next to Andrew’s mouth, and rubs his thumbs over the back of Andrew’s hands. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” he says.

There’s quiet for a moment, then Andrew says in a rough voice, loud enough that Adam flinches away slightly: “ _Time._ ” Adam sighs, then, as Andrew collapses onto him, eyes closed, his breath wheezing and painful-sounding. 

He shifts his chair, arranging himself so Andrew is leaning on him, and then looks at the others. “I think we need to get on with telling what happened on Friday night.”

Cecilia huffs. “That’s the most goddamn cryptic thing he’s said in months.”

Cassandra frowns.  “I think we should act fast. Tell us what happened.”

Mik is watching the exchange with wide eyes. “We’re wasting it, we’re wasting time.”

“Well, he could have just said that, no need for the fucking drama,” Xiaolian growls.

James looks at the group of still mysterious people. “Please. We need to know.”

Adam shrugs a little, looking at Cecilia. “He hasn’t really had an opportunity to rest since Friday night, and even when he  _has_  rested you know it’s hard for him. And not particularly controllable, either,” he says, looking over at Xiaolian.

Xiaolian just huffs and stares at her hands. She’s cranky from crying and using her powers. Not much room for being anything other than a bitchy teen.

“Can we also get a low down on just what exactly everyone  _is_? Cause I’m just straight up confused,” Roan says, looking around the room.

Adam shifts, holding Andrew a little closer, and looks around the room. “That … might be a good idea. As long as everyone new promises not to freak out.”

Ryan snorts. “Given the weekend we’ve all had?”

Adam shrugs. “People have weird triggers, Ryan. As I recall, Shane barely fazed you, and I was a shock. Most people it’d be the other way around.”

“Haven’t we all freaked out enough?” James asks, eyebrows raised.

Adam looks at James. “See, now, that’s where I usually stand. There’s enough going on that most people only want the bare minimum at a time, enough to get by, enough to process before moving on. But if you all—” and here he looks at all the newcomers— “want the whole truth, and nothing but, then… today does seem to be the day for breaking with tradition.”

Mik sighs. “If that’s what we need to do to get us all on the same page, then let’s get it over with. I just want to go get Shane back.”

Cassandra glances at Xiaolian, then at Owen, then at Roan. She’s worried for them but if there’s anything their ghoul hunting taught her, it’s that these people are resilient. She looks back at Adam and his group, waiting for their explanations.

James sighs. “This whole situation isn’t gonna work if we aren’t all fully truthful with each other.”

“It doesn’t really matter what everyone is, does it?” Owen asks softly. “It’s not really gonna change anything.”

Banjo speaks up. “It may not  _matter_ , son, but it might help to clear the air and set us all off on the right foot. We got a bad start with all the mistrust.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cass reassures Owen with a smile, “but it might help. Anything can help at this point.”

“Sharing secrets can lead to a more positive and trusting attitude in teams,” James spouts absentmindedly.

“Then seeing as we’re all agreed,” Adam says, “I suppose I’ll start.” The glow around him intensifies, and spreads to his eyes: it’s a warm white light, tinged with orange. A blink, and suddenly two huge wings, easily a third again of his height above and below him, have appeared: they are not quite comprehensible to the human eye, but as they solidify into existence most of the folks around the room see them as being made of something akin to filaments of soft wire or thread, shimmering with silvery light. There’s a soft hum in the room, now, like a bow being pulled across a bass string ever so gently. Everyone feels immediately at ease – even, notably, Roan. Andrew, rousing from unconsciousness, turns and nestles into Adam’s side, and one of the wings gently curls up against him.

“Holy shit,” Xiaolian breathes, “like, literally fucking holy.”

“Allah, this is the nicest I’ve felt in years,” James mutters.

Roan gapes.  “A literal fucking angel. Holy crap.”

Adam smiles. “Mm hmm. That’s me. Resident angel.”

Cassandra is wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open.

Mik throws one hand up in the air in a  _this might as well happen_  gesture, but is otherwise silent. They’ve had far too wild a week to start freaking out now.

“Wow,” Owen says softly, “that’s really pretty.” He chooses not to actually ask what an angel is, because he’s sure he’ll probably figure it out by living with one.

“Unfortunately, I’m the showiest you get today,” Adam continues, “seeing as my, ah, _sparring partner_ is otherwise occupied.” He grimaces slightly.

“Occupied?” Cass remembers how to speak, glancing at Andrew, then back at Adam. “Shane too?”

Mik snorts. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Well _that’s_ ominous,” James says.

Adam sighs. “Shane isn’t quite like me, but we make quite the team.” He shakes his head. “He doesn’t like other people sharing his story for him, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures…”

Ryan clears his throat. “Let me.”  He goes over to his computer array, takes it out of sleep mode, opens a program. Suddenly a green grid is hovering over the table, projected from god knows where: it shifts into a large rectangular prism of small green dots, and the lights in the room dim. There’s a few clicks, and then recorded three-dimensional footage begins to play, impressively life-like, over the table.

Ryan rejoins the circle as smoke clears in the video: they see several members of the Willow Guard, in a triangle formation. Adam is on one corner, Banjo on the other, and Shane at the head of the formation. They all look dirty and disheveled, and Banjo is bleeding from one arm. There’s a flash of light off screen, and all three flinch back from it, then look angrily in the light’s direction. Shane takes a few steps, then leaps into the air, transforming as he does: black horns curl back from behind his ears, wings manifest in black and gold sheets of tinsel petals, and his claws sparkle with dark crackling energy. He rears up in the air, wings spreading wide, and then dives past the camera, revealing Adam and Banjo grinning wildly.

The footage stops, and Ryan returns to the computer, backing up a few frames and then holding Shane in freeze-frame as he rises up over the battlefield. “Closest thing I could think of to him telling them himself,” he says to Cecilia, who is looking at him with a cross between _you could have just used words_ and _my God you’re so in love it makes me sick_.

_“Holyshit,”_  Cass mutters under her breath, mesmerized.

Xiaolian slaps James on the arm. “I fucking knew it! ‘I practice a lot,’ my ass! He had fucking wings!”

James nods. “Makes sense. He knows Arabic even better than I do.”

Roan feels their breathing speed up. “Hey, uh. Quick question. Does Shane ever, ya know, approach innocent people in dreams and give them creepy powers and take their soul, leaving them half dead with no real idea of what’s going on?” They pause. “Asking for a friend.”

Mik turns and openly stares at Roan.  James turns to them, too. “Oh, Roan.” He puts his hand over theirs.

Ryan blinks. “Uh. Not that he’s told me. But being effectively immortal he probably has a lot of secrets that he hasn’t thought to share. Um. Is this…” Realization dawns on his face. “ _Oh._ ”  He swallows. “I don’t think Shane would be the type to do that, but he … he might be able to help your … friend.”

Roan slides their hand out from under James’ and thrusts it into their pocket, gaze focused on a distant spot on the wall, attempting to get their breathing in check. “Cool. Cool. I’ll, uh, I’ll let my friend know.”

James frowns as Roan pulls away from him. He puts his hand back on Xiaolian’s arm, lightly tapping a nervous rhythm.

Seeing Roan’s discomfort, Cass turns back to the group. “Who else?”

“I’m as human as they come,” Cecilia says, “I just know shit and fight dirty. Francesca and Holly are in the same boat. I still haven’t gotten out of Domhnall what  _he_  is, I don’t think  _anyone_  knows.”

Ryan nods. “I’m boring too,” he says. “The only other really interesting person on the Willow Guard is—”

“Me,” says Andrew.

Banjo chuckles. “You could have let me take that one, young man,” he says, the tips of his fingers glowing purple. “We all thought you were still out cold.”

Andrew grumbles softly and hides his face in Adam’s wing. “Fine, then you go first, old man.”

Banjo grins. “I’m  _almost_  as human as any of y’all. I suspect your friend and I share some similarities, Roan.” He brings his hand up and twirls his fingers in the air, making a wisp of purplish energy appear. “I’ve been around the block a few times and I suspect I’ll be around a few times more, though not near so many times as our angelic and formerly angelic friends.”

Andrew sits up, pulling out from Adam’s wing. “My turn,” he says, stubbornly. “If we’re doing reveals then I’m doing mine properly.”

Adam frowns. “Drew, you don’t have to. It’s been a hell of a week for you, and—”

“ _No,_ ” he says, firmly. “If I’m the one that got us all into this mess, they deserve to know.”  Ryan opens his mouth as if to protest, and Andrew holds up a hand to stop him. “They wanted us both, Ryan,” he says.  Ryan shuts his mouth.

Andrew stands, shakily, Adam standing with him and keeping a hold on him.  “I don’t look very different,” Andrew says, “but I’m similar to my new friend Owen. When I was very young, I was … taken … from my family. Because of the things I could do. Taken by … taken by people very much like the people we’re hunting now.

“I can see things,” he continues, “much like Xiaolian can, though I think it’s for different reasons. You see, I’m… “ He sighs. “I’m half-fae. I’m a seer. And for most of my childhood and adolescence, I was forced to see on command, into the rifts, in an attempt to discern their powers and uses.

“So, on Friday night, I went with the group that  _wasn’t_  going to the mountains, so that I’d be safe. We don’t actually know if the Rift-seekers are the people who … had me, as a child.”

Adam folds the bottom tips of his wings around Andrew’s ankles, standing just behind him, holding onto his arms gently. Andrew takes a slow, deep breath, then continues. “But they came for us. They came, in a craft faster than any of us could see – and somehow, somehow they stopped Adam from getting us out. Shane was just barely fast enough to get away. And of course, my  _goddamn_  mind—” his voice cracks. He closes his eyes, swallows, and keeps going.

“As they arrived, I saw. I saw death, and destruction, and so much pain. And … I can’t understand my visions anymore, very rarely. It hurts too much, and I can’t keep them in mind. But I saw what would happen, and I knew that I’d be home soon, and I hated it.

“They took us to Mount Perseus. They—” He grabs for Adam’s hand, compulsively, and Adam gives it. “They tore us apart. I can’t think without Adam nearby, not barely at all.

“Those were the longest five hours of my life. And I’ve had some long hours,” he says, dryly.

“That was when Shane arrived at the mountain,” Cecilia says, softly.

Ryan’s gripping the chair in front of him again, knuckles going white. “He walked into the firefight,” he says, huskily, “and yelled that he was the one they wanted. Fucking— fucking  _martyr_.”

“It’s true, though,” Adam says. “He’s the only one who knows. And I  _highly_  doubt they’ll be able to get it out of him. He’ll outlive them, even if it takes decades.”

Ryan shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

Cecilia smacks Ryan on the arm lightly. “They had you in  _thumbscrews_ : don’t you make yourself a martyr too, Bergara. Shane made the right call.”

“Shane made the only call he could,” Banjo says quietly, “but we don’t have to leave him there.”


	5. Morning - V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the debriefing session at Banjo's, and the beginnings of a new plan.

“We’re not leaving him there,” Mikaere says, firmly.

Cassandra echoes.  “Yeah. We’re not.”

“No way in hell does that place get to stay standing,” Roan affirms.

“It’s a fucking _mountain_ ,” Ryan says. “And they decimated us with  _an angel and a demon_  on our side.”

Roan shrugs. “Some well placed dynamite and even a mountain falls.”

James sighs. “We have to go in with a plan. And back-up plans, if we want to win.”

“If there’s more of us maybe we have a better chance of beating them.” Owen says hopefully.

“Tell us what you need,” Cassandra says. “Guns, cars, tech, anything.”

Adam nods. “We can take them down. It won’t be easy, and it might not be now, but we can and we will. First, though, I propose we get Shane out  _without_  attempting a full assault. He would be awfully helpful to have back.”

James nods. “Inflitration and extraction won’t be easy but it’s our best bet right now.”

Banjo lifts a hand. “Before we leap into planning, as we so blindly did before, I suspect there may be questions. Mikaere, you’ve spent the last two days in seclusion – do you have anything to add? That goes for the rest of you kids, too, but it seems to me that you five have at least been together over the events of the weekend.”

“I don’t really have anything to add, but I do have a question.” Mik turns to Owen. “I don’t think we’ve met, so I’m sorry to pry, but just so that I’m up to speed – Andrew says you’re like him. What does that mean?” 

“Uh.” Owen looks equal parts confused, scared, and reluctant. “That I’m not all human, I guess.” He says with a small shrug, not elaborating any more than that.

“Alright. That’s… okay,” Mikaere says, clearly not satisfied with the answer, but not wanting to be rude. “Does anyone else have a question?” 

“Yeah,” Xiaolian pipes up. “It’s great that y’all are willing to share. I’d love to contribute. But the problem is I have no fucking clue what I am. Ideas?”

Banjo speaks up. “As I recall, you said someone came to you and gave you that sword – and your dragon friend, too. Had you ever seen them before?”

Xiaolian shakes her head. “No, but the man who gave me the sword kinda…” Xiaolian trails off, not sure if anyone would believe her.

Banjo puts his hand on her knee comfortingly. “Anything’s game here, kid. You just met an angel.”

Xiaolian nods and takes a deep breath. “Well I mean, he kinda looked like my dad. Like a super old version of my dad. But in like robes and no hair.”

He frowns. “That’s interesting…” He bites his lip, thinking for a moment. “Xiaolian, I understand if you don’t want to answer this question, but … do you know if either of your parents had any sort of gifts?”

Xiaolian shakes her head. “No, not that I remember. I mean, if they had, Bolin would have told me, right?”

Banjo nods slowly. “I’d hope so. Though … your brother took your parents’ death very hard. And…” He trails off.

Cecilia speaks, quietly. “That might explain a few things, Ja— Banjo.”

Banjo looks over at her, raises an eyebrow slightly, then looks back at Xiaolian. “It might. It also might not. Don’t go saying things you can’t back,  _Cecilia._ ”

She glares.

“Banjo?” Xiaolian feels very uncertain right now, about everything. The implication that Bolin has been lying to her about something as important as her parents, about who she is, shakes her deeply.

Banjo doesn’t respond for a moment, looking like he’s turning things over in his mind. Then, finally, he says, “I … don’t have any solid answers, Xiaolian. Only conjecture. How much of that conjecture you want is up to you.”

Xiaolian looks at her hands, then at Zhiqiang. After a couple of deep breaths, she looks back at Banjo. “It’s not like anyone else is giving me answers.”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. Then … the very little we  _do_  know, I’ll tell you. Your parents’ deaths have been on our radar since they occurred. It’s one of the few things we haven’t been able to figure out. Someone showed up in the middle of the night, your parents invited them in, and the next morning, they were both gone.

“But as far as we knew, the Chens were like any other family. No dark history – not that we could find, anyway. Unfortunately, we didn’t have many in-roads across the Pacific when it happened. Still don’t. But it was strange, and it was swept under the rug damn fast.” His eyes are glistening with tears. “So we did the best we could, and protected you and Bolin.

“The strangest thing was how they died,” he says, even more quietly. “Even Domnhall couldn’t find anything wrong with them. No injuries, no substances, nothing.”

Xiaolian takes everything Banjo says in silence. Her breathing quickens and she fights back the blue and gold creeping into her vision. “Everyone always asked if I remembered anything about the night. I don’t.” She’s crying again. “Shouldn’t I be able to remember if someone came to my home and killed my parents?!”

“Are you sure you want to remember?” Andrew asks, softly.

Xiaolian practically jumps out of James’s arms. She doesn’t really try to keep her voice low. “My parents were taken from me and you’re asking if I want to remember who took them?! Of course I do! I want to know their face so I can find them and make them feel the same amount of pain that Bolin and I have felt! Bolin didn’t deserve this, we didn’t deserve this!” Xiaolian’s legs fold under her and she sits on the floor arms wrapped around herself. “Whoever killed them is out there, breathing and talking and moving. They shouldn’t get to do that. Not while mom and dad are buried six feet underground.”

Andrew closes his eyes and exhales slowly, gripping Adam’s hand. Banjo looks up at Xiaolian, and says, “I know, Xiaolian, I know. We’ve never stopped looking, and we never will. Now, maybe, we’ll be able to figure more of this out.”

Xiaolian just nods and heads back to be next to James. She’s pretty burned out after crying so much again so all she does is lean against him and shut her eyes.

James wraps his arms around Xiaolian again. He takes a minute to make her comfortable before looking up to the group. “Well, I guess it’s my turn.” He shifts slightly, obviously uncomfortable. “I am James Finn, but my family name is Tombalbaye. We… we are a hunting family.” James is looking down at the floor, not making eye contact with anyone. Reaching up, he lightly touches his necklace. He takes a deep breath. “I’m the first in my family to come up to Canada. They are mostly focused on hunting and researching in America. I have journals dating back to the sixteenth century; I think you guys have seen me carrying them around.” He gestures to his assembled journals.

Banjo narrows his eyes at the mention of James’ family name, and watches carefully as he touches his necklace, but he keeps his counsel.

Mik looks the journals over, impressed. “That’s a  _long_  time. D’you think there’s anything in there that could be connected to these rift-seeker people?”

James shrugs and looks slightly relieved. “It is possible. There are a lot of stories in there from all over the world. Many are just stories but the past hundred years have marked a huge improvement in our knowledge.”

Mik taps their chin, where the lines of their moko are slightly raised. “Stories can teach us a lot as well. If you can have a look and show us anything useful you find, we’ll have a better chance of getting Shane out without anyone else getting hurt.”

James nods. “I’ll definitely take a look. From what you guys have told us, it seems like every little bit will help.”

Roan shuffles uncomfortably in their seat but keeps their silence. They’ve already shared more than they meant to and they’re not ready yet to share anything else. They awkwardly glance at Cassandra, hoping she’ll start to speak before anyone notices them again.

Cassandra notices how uncomfortable Roan seems to be, and once again steps in, “Okay. Okay, well, lots to consider here. We know we should act soon,” she glances at Andrew, “but I think we need to consider what our strengths are, and gather as much information as we can. James has his journals to go through, Mikaere—it’s Mikaere, right? It’s been a while—has that special iPad, Xiaolian—” Cass looks at her, still in James’ arms, and tries her best not to let her worry show. “Xiaolian has things she wants to do too, I’m sure. I would certainly welcome every last piece of information the Guard has on Mount Perseus, and on the people inside. We can do this. I know we can. But we need to be prepared.”

Banjo stands, nodding. “Agreed. It would be irresponsible to go running back to the mountains now. As hard as it may be, what we need to do is take some time, share information – and, I daresay, train.” He looks around at the group. “We typically have new members go a round in the ring with Shane, to get a handle on where they’re at and what they need to learn. That’s not an option right now, so – seek one of us out, and we’ll teach you what we can.”

“And as soon as possible, we’ll get Shane back,” Cecilia says. Banjo nods. 

Adam, his wings still gently wrapped around Andrew, speaks up. “I think it might be a good idea to take the day off, so everyone can rest. Everyone can come get lunch at the cafe if they want, and then let’s just recharge. We all need it.” Andrew nods, looking exhausted.  Adam leans in and whispers something into Andrew’s ear. Andrew looks like he’s about to argue, then closes his eyes and sighs and nods again.  In a few heartbeats, Adam has returned to looking human – the wings and glow are gone, and the low hum in the room fades away.

Mik looks like they’re losing their grip on the bravado they’d arrived with. “So – we’re just going to sit around some more? Do a couple of training montages, with – with kids? I came here to help you  _get him back_ , I can’t just – we can’t -” They look up at Banjo, schooling the mounting panic out of their voice. “How long are you planning to leave him there?”

Banjo looks at them with pain evident in his eyes, though is voice is calm. “Mikaere… half the people in the room were in a serious firefight a day and a half ago, and have gotten very little sleep since. The other half of the people in this room fought an archghoul less than twelve hours ago. Trust me when I say that we don’t  _want_  to leave Shane there any longer, but without taking the time to rest, heal, and train up the folks who  _haven’t_  spent decades fighting monsters to at least a  _modicum_  of ability, we’d be taking you all to your deaths. Fighting the Rift-seekers the first time nearly lost us everything. We can’t do that again.”

Ryan swallows hard. “ … Shane will live. Of all the people we can trust to survive a few days in whatever godforsaken—” he catches his terrible joke, and laughs ruefully— “whatever oubliette they’ve got… it’s him.”

“He told me they wouldn’t be able to kill him, and I— I believe that, but… how long before he starts to…” Mik shakes themself. “Okay. Everyone who’s injured, I understand you need time to heal, and I don’t want to create problems. I just – I want to talk to you, Ryan. One on one. At your leisure.”

Ryan meets their eyes, and nods. “Lunch?”

“…Lunch. Sure.”

They all file out, some more slowly than others, and Ryan leaves last with Mikaere, Banjo and James close by.

* * *

Adam and Andrew leave first, going ahead of the group to head straight to the cafe. Andrew is walking slowly, trading his typical quick stride for a slightly awkward, half-shortened gait. Adam is holding his hand as they walk, and he’s slowed his own pace to match. It’s a beautiful day in Willow River: the sun is out, the trees are covered in little green buds, there are birds singing just out of sight.

“I’m sorry,” Andrew says, softly. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Adam hums, and squeezes Andrew’s hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Drew.”

“I do, though,” Andrew argues, looking off ahead into the trees and the budding flowers in the flowerbeds on the side of the road, “I do. If I could use my brain properly, see the way I’m supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. I’d get more than useless flashes of information, more than instincts, and we wouldn’t be flying blind. We wouldn’t have gotten caught, and we’d still have Shane.”

“It’s not your fault your vision doesn’t work the way it should,” Adam says with a light  _tsk_. “Thinking like that doesn’t get you anywhere. And you don’t know it wouldn’t have worked out the same way.”

Andrew doesn’t respond. Adam lets him think for a moment, then continues. “Like I said at Ryan’s, you’re taking the day off. Whatever you need, Steven and I will get for you. You need to rest. You’ve had, what, three breakdowns in as many days? You need hot chocolate, comfy pillows, and as much TLC as we can give you.”

Andrew grumbles. “The café still needs running. You’ll be shorthanded.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “We’ll manage.”

“But if you and Steven are taking care of  _me_ —”

“ _Andrew._  We’ll  _manage_.” Adam gives him an exasperated smile.

Andrew huffs. “If you say so.”

* * *

A few minutes later, after a quick tête-à-tête update with Steven in the back room, Adam takes point in the kitchen and calls Bolin in to help out while Steven takes Andrew into the back of the house, to their private rooms.

“Where do you want to rest?” Steven asks, swinging their clasped hands gently as they walk down the hallway. “Your room?” 

“Our room, please,” he replies, absentmindedly running his thumb over the back of Steven’s hand.

Steven nods, and opens one of the doors in the hallway, bringing him into a modern-styled room in blues and greens, with a big four-poster bed. The headboard has a perfectly reasonable amount of pillows on it; the couch on the side of the room, on the other hand, is covered in throw pillows. Compromise is essential in any relationship, you see.

“Do you want anything?” Steven asks, as Andrew moves towards the bed. “Hot chocolate? Tea? Something to eat?”

Andrew is unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, feeling the emotions he’s been shoving down in himself for days starting to rise within him. “You,” he says, the edge of his voice rough, “just you.”

Steven smiles softly, coming up behind Andrew and slipping his hands under the hem of his shirt, running them along his sides. “Need a little grounding?” he murmurs, putting his head right next to Andrew’s.

Andrew nods, his eyes far-off. “Please,” he whispers, “I feel like I haven’t existed for days.”

“Mm, we can’t have that,” Steven says, closing his eyes and nuzzling the side of Andrew’s neck. “You’re right here, solid as ever. I couldn’t kiss you if you didn’t exist.” He presses a kiss to his skin, and Andrew shivers. “See? Totally real. Real, and here, and mine.” Another kiss, right in the crook of his collarbone, as Steven is slowly undoing the buttons of Andrew’s shirt and removing it; this time, Andrew groans. “I’m here, you’re here; we’re safe, my love … my Drew.”


	6. Afternoon - I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen asks Adam some questions to figure out what he's missing, and James and Banjo dig into each other's stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over italicised foreign language text for translations! (Mobile and tablet users, please see the ending notes.) These are not written by native speakers by any means, please forgive the inevitable terrible errors if you are a speaker!

Owen finds his way to M&D with some of the others, after the meeting. He sees Adam and Bolin in the kitchen; Steven and Andrew don’t seem to be around.  He immediately goes to Adam’s side, putting a hand on his arm, mostly for his own comfort. He glances over at Bolin briefly, before looking away.

Adam looks over as he feels the touch on his arm. “An— oh, hello Owen.” He smiles. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just coming over,” Owen admits, with a tiny shrug. “A lot happened, and I’m still confused about a lot…”

“Right,” he says, nodding, “understandable. Do you wanna talk about it, ask questions?”

He hesitates for a moment, before nodding, squeezing Adam’s arm softly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Adam replies immediately, “but let’s go somewhere a little quieter. Some of this stuff can really scare people.” He puts the dough he was kneading into a bowl and covers it to proof, then washes his hands. Luckily, there isn’t a whole lot that needs doing at the moment. “How about the living room in the main house?” He begins moving through the kitchen in that direction.

Owen nods. “Okay,” he says, and trails behind Adam.

Adam leads them into the living room, where they’d had their conversation about the ghoul the night before, and he sits down on one of the couches. “Alright, Owen,” he says, “ask away.”

Owen sits next to him and nods, taking a moment to think of what to ask. “Most of my questions are just… dumb stuff that normal people are already supposed to  _know…_ ”

Adam shrugs. “That’s fine. How would you know those things? Also, humans are weird.”

He takes a breath before speaking. “Well, I don’t know what all of the things people said they were mean. Like you and Andrew and Shane. And also I still don’t really understand the “iPad”? Is it magic? And then this is different from my questions, but I also want to learn how to do writing and stuff.”

Adam listens carefully. “Okay. Writing, yes, we can definitely get you writing and reading. I’ll ask Ariel if she has any resources for that – she runs the daycare. As to the iPad, no, it isn’t magic— well, actually,” he catches himself and chuckles, “Shane’s iPad almost certainly  _is_  a little bit magic. Most iPads don’t float and wiggle and communicate, they’re just tools.”

Adam pulls his phone out of his pocket and lays it flat in his hand. “This is an iPhone. It’s like an iPad, but smaller, more or less. They’re tools that use electricity to work, not magic – electricity is … like a magic we understand. We know how it works, better than we know how magic works. You can keep information on iPhones and other tools like that, and then you can get the information back. You can also use them to talk to people who are far away. It’s okay if you don’t understand it right now – there’s a lot of background information that you kind of need to really grasp what they do, and how.  For now, if you want to think about iPads and iPhones as magic, so you don’t tie your brain in knots, that’s totally fine.”

Owen looks at the phone, nodding. “…Okay,” he says. Magic, then. That was fine for now. “I guess that helps.”

“I’m sorry it’s not a great explanation yet,” Adam says, frowning, “and someday, I promise you’ll understand why they’re not magic, but right now it’s not super important. Use it as a tool.” He puts the phone away. “Now … me, Shane, and Andrew. Let’s start with Andrew. He’s half-human, like you, but his other half is a different creature than a ghoul. With me so far?”

Owen nods, listening intently.

“Andrew’s other half is what’s called  _fae_. Some people call them fairies. They have a lot of names, depending on where in the world you come from, but he calls them fae. They’re creatures who have a lot of different supernatural powers. Andrew’s fae blood gives him the ability to see things that aren’t happening right now or aren’t in front of him.

“It also makes him very strong, and it means he’ll live longer than most humans. There are a couple other things too, but they’re not really relevant.  Unfortunately, some really awful people tried to make him use his gifts in terrible ways when he was a kid, and his brain doesn’t work quite the way it should anymore,” he finishes, sounding sad.

“Is he going to be okay, though?” Owen asks softly. “Those people are really strong, right?”

“He will be okay,” Adam says. “Steven and I have been helping him for a long time, however we can, and we’re not going to stop. We can’t make what they did to him go away, but we can help Andrew be okay now. And yes, fae are really strong, and Andrew has always been very determined.”

“Okay. Good.” He nods. “You’re really good at helping.”

He smiles. “I try my best. I care about him a lot. And I care about you, too, Owen.  Do you want to know about me next?”

Owen nods, settling more comfortably against the couch. “Yeah!”

“Okay.” He pauses, thinks for a moment. “So … I’m what’s called an angel. Angels are … extremely powerful, and we aren’t really  _born_. I am timeless. I existed before the universe began, and as long as I’m not destroyed, I’ll exist after it ends.” He bites his lip. “This is a really hard idea to explain. If I put on a glove, I can still touch things, hold things, do things – but there’s a layer between me and what I’m touching. That’s sort of like how I exist here on Earth. I’m wearing a glove all the time – this human body – and I can interact with everything here, but it’s not  _really_  me, I exist inside the glove. Does that make any sort of sense?”

Once he takes a moment to process, Owen nods. “I think so. Are you the strongest out of everyone here?”

“Eh … Shane and I are very evenly matched. Shane is what most people would call a demon, or a fallen angel. We’re essentially the same, but created for slightly different reasons. And that even depends on how you look at it.”

“I actually have heard ‘demon’ before but I didn’t know what it was,” Owen admits. “Shane is good… right?”

Adam is quiet for a moment, considering his words. “Shane is … Shane is as good as I am. Neither of us were created to function on what humans consider ‘good’ or ‘evil’, and what humans consider good and evil changes drastically over time. I was created as a force of growth; he was created as a force of change.”

“Okay.” Owen nods in understanding. “I guess that makes sense…”

“Glad to hear it… People have tried to explain this for eons, and it never really gets easier.” He smiles a little. “What else do you want to ask about?”

“…. What’s a ‘Doctor Who’? Roan tried to tell me but it didn’t work…”

“Ah. Well, short version – it’s the title of a story, about an alien – the Doctor – who can travel in time and space. He has adventures with his friends. Some of them involved rifts, kind of like the one we’re dealing with. That’s why Roan referred to it.”

“Okay.” Owen nods. “I don’t think I have any more questions right now.”

“Alright,” Adam says. “Ask any time, okay?”

* * *

James is making sure he has all his journals on him before he leaves Ryan's. He is prepared to trust these Hunters with his knowledge, but no one can touch his journals… not again. He sees Banjo lingering as they're leaving, seeming to make sure everyone is getting out okay, and then helping Ryan lock up.  James tries to be get a good look, sneakily.  He sees Ryan using what looks like a standard key in a standard deadbolt, but as he turns the key in the lock the deadbolt flashes purple and it looks like there are tiny little runes that flash over the metal. He also sees Banjo’s lips move, and he’s just close enough to hear a couple syllables – which don’t make much sense. As Banjo finishes muttering, that’s when his fingertips glow, and James feels a very light wind move past him, away from the house.  Then Ryan goes off to find Mikaere, and Banjo sticks his thumbs in his pockets of his jeans, looking at the sky.

James pulls his jacket closer to his body and walks over to his car, popping open his truck and then opening the secret hatch full of his hunting gear.

He hears footsteps come up to his side, stopping a respectful distance off – everyone else is heading down the street, Banjo has come over. “I don’t mean to pry, James, but I must say I  _am_  curious. What do you keep in  _your_  toolbox?”

James turns to look at Banjo over his shoulder. He smiles. “I wouldn’t say there is anything too special. Probably too many books for some one my age.”

Banjo grins. “Is there ever such thing as too many books?” He gestures. “Do you mind if I look? I’m always interested in learning what I can from other hunters, especially folks as widely traveled and long-established as the Tombalbayes.”

James tenses. He wordlessly gestures for Banjo to come closer. He puts the books he had brought to the meeting on a small shelf. There is an order to the books, as James places them back in a specific order, although it isn’t immediately obvious.

Banjo steps in beside James, and silently looks over the arrangement, noting the books, the bottles, the pistol and ammunition. He nods. “Nice array. I presume you do most of your own harvesting and mixing, and you’re trained in alchemy and chemistry?”

James nods. “I have, although I specialize in medicines I know the basics in almost everything.”

“So what’s your partner’s specialty?”

“I—” James’s heart drops and he has trouble taking a deep breath. He slams the trunk shut. He turns to glare at Banjo. “Don’t.”

Banjo’s eyebrows raise, but he remains open and calm. “Hit a nerve, I see. Apologies. I’ve just never known a Tombalbaye to be operating alone, so I wondered if your partner was covert, or perhaps they were one of the others in your party.”

James’s eyes fall from Banjo. He sighs and runs the back of his neck, lightly tugging on his necklace. “Well, it’s the twenty-first century. Traditions change.”

“They certainly seem to,” he says, “if a lone Tombalbaye is travelling to Canada. Speaking of which … why Canada? Why here?”

James leans up against the trunk of his car. He looks up at the sky and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes. “We speaking honestly to each other now?” he says hoarsely.

“I believe that was the plan,” Banjo replies.

“I’m hiding from my family.” James pauses and takes a deep breath. “They don’t know I’m alone. Canada seemed like a safe place. Think I might have been a little off.”

Banjo’s eyebrows, which had returned to their normal alignment, shoot up again. “You’re hiding. … Where  _is_  your partner?”

James laughs bitterly. “I don’t know. She left.” He splits the pendant around his necklace with a light click. “I brought her into my family and she… I can’t go back.” He rolls his head to look at Banjo.

Banjo inhales slowly. “ _Ah._  I think I see now.” He taps his finger on the side of his chin. “How undercover are you? Do you need extra protection?  And furthermore … do you want someone to talk to about it?” He holds up a hand. “Scout’s honour, everything will stay confidential. But if you need an ear, I’m here.”

James smiles sincerely. He pushes himself off his trunk and puts a hand on Banjo’s shoulder. “I appreciate the offer, Banjo, and I won’t lie and say I’m fine, but we’ve got bigger fish to fry than my emotional problems.”

Banjo chuckles. “Understood. Sometimes a little catharsis makes you that much better of a fish-fryer, though, so don’t feel like you gotta shove it all under the rug.”

“I’ll make sure to call you if I’m in need of that catharsis.” James can’t stop the genuine smile taking over his face.

Banjo nods. “You getting lunch?”

James shrugs. “I could eat. And I think I’ve got a few questions you might be able to answer for me, seeing as I just bared my soul to you.”

“Certainly. M&D, or the Sidekick? What’s your pleasure?”

“Sidekick. Their chicken is amazing.”

“It is, at that.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Banjo and James are ensconced in a booth on the opposite side of the diner from Ryan and Mikaere, and two delicious plates of fried chicken are placed before them – today, it’s Thai chicken, with a coating containing flaked coconut, and the basting and sauce an incredibly tasty lemongrass-cilantro flavour.

“Alright,” Banjo says, tucking his napkin into his collar, “shoot.”

“Well, as you know, we broke into the morgue. Sorry by the way.” James shoots an embarrassed look at Banjo. “But… when we were in there, we found this weird door. Completely covered in text. I could only read… maybe one word. What’s up with that?”

Banjo huffs a laugh and waves off the apology. “You went to a lot of trouble and gave us quite the fright. It’s a good thing Domnhall was out of town this weekend, though that’s been causing problems for us to get a real read on the ghoul and its unfortunate victim…” He shakes his head and returns to James’ question. “By the sounds of it, though, you snooped around trying to find her, and you found his office. One of those doors is the most secure holding cell we’ve got outside of the sanctum, and the other is, I believe, a highly secured workshop.”

James nods, taking a bite of his chicken as he digests the new info. He swallows and continues, “That’s good to know. We all got super freaked when we found it.”

“Sneaking into the office of an extremely well-trained magister and scientist in order to find a dead body, I don’t doubt you were freaked out,” he says, more than a hint of amusement in his tone. “It’s  _also_  a good thing you cut the main power and didn’t start trashing the place, or Màiri McKenna would have brought your whole escapade to a crashing halt awfully fast.” 

James rolls his eyes, a good-natured smile on his face. “Come on, Banjo, who  _doesn’t_  know to cut the power before robbing a place.”

He shrugs, smiling. “People who want to break in and run, not people who want to look around. Which bodes well for our upcoming infiltration job,” he adds, before taking a bite of the chicken.

James hums in agreement. “If my input is wanted, I think Cassandra would do a great job infiltrating the facility. She is a great leader and knows when to follow directions. She knows this town without being as… tied to anything as some of you guys are. Ah, no offense.”

“That’s good to know,” he says, nodding. “And a very fair observation. When we all meet to plan this shindig, you should bring it up.” He takes a gulp of his glass of mango lassi. “What other questions have you got?”

James arches an eyebrow. “Are personal questions on the table?”

Banjo considers it, swallows, and nods. “I asked you about your family and partner, it’s only fair.”

“Your magic. I don’t know much about it in a practical sense.”

In response, Banjo’s fingertips begin to glow again, as do lines of runes along his arms and neck. “A very old deal, long ago up the family tree, came to fruition in little ol’ Banjo. Most of my magic is of the fairly mundane sort – telekinesis, warding, things like that – but I  _can_  see into the veil, and communicate with certain subsets of beings not on our plane of existence. And sometimes, if I’m very clever about it, I can manipulate the threads of the universe ever so slightly, to encourage things in one direction or another.”

James’s eyes light up in awe. “Woah.”

He smiles with a tinge of melancholy. “Sometimes it works  _great_. Other times, not so much.” The glow fades.

James nods. “As is the fault with anything. That aside, it’s pretty fucking cool.”

“Heh. Thanks.” His mouth quirks into a half-smile. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for me. I should go research. See if I can find anything on Rift-Seekers.” James stands up and reaches his hand out to Banjo. “Thank you for the lunch and… interesting conversation.”

Banjo stands, dusts the coconut flakes from his hands, and shakes James’ hand. “Of course. Any time. Best of luck with your research, and you know where to find me if you need me.”

James smiles. “I’ll see ya around.” He leaves the Sidekick, already thinking about his research. As he leaves the diner, however, he realizes that he … doesn’t have a place to stay. He passed out last night in his van, but … well, surely he can get a room at the Spirit of the Lake down the road. Maybe they even have a Willow Guard discount…  He hops in his car and drives down the road, parking nearby and entering the inn.

A peppy blonde woman with happy eyes is sitting behind the desk. “Hiya!” she says. “Welcome to the Spirit of the Lake, my name is Kelsey Impicciche; how can I help you today?”

“Hi, do you have any rooms open?”

“Of course!” She beams, and looks down at a notebook on the desk. “I’ve got a room on the second floor, and one on the first. Both face the main street and each is a suite with a double bed. Fifty per night, breakfast included at the Monstrous and the Divine. Do you have a preference of floor?”

“Not at all.”

“Then I’ll give you the second floor, I think it has the nicest pillows.” She grins conspiratorially. “Can I get your name, a phone number, a piece of photo ID, and a credit card for the file?”

He gives her everything, not bothering with any fake identities he has set up.

She types it into her computer, makes a note on the notebook, and then hands him his ID, credit card, and a keycard. “Here you go, Mr Finn,” she says. “Up the stairs, first door on the right. Housecleaning knocks at ten-thirty AM on weekdays and one-thirty PM on weekends; the living room is the common area on the first floor, and the library is on the second floor. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask – you can also reach the front desk with the landline in your room.”

“Thank you, Miss.” James heads outside to grab his things. He decides to take all his journals upstairs: he has the feeling he will be in Willow River for a while.

Once he gets there, he finds a lovely blue and brown room with a comfortable bed, a small dresser and desk, and a large window looking out onto the main street, and the door to the in-suite bathroom in the corner. There are instructions for connecting to the inn’s wifi on a note card on the desk.

He walks to the window and takes a moment to admire the view before shutting the blinds. He plugs the WiFi password into his phone as he unpacks.  It connects with no issue, and pops up a friendly splash page: “Welcome to the Spirit of the Lake – your home away from home in Willow River!” Links to the café menu, a list of nearby attractions, and so on continue down the page.

James locks his phone and sets it on his nightstand. He places all his journals onto the bed and sits next to them.  “Now, which one of you are gonna help me?” James murmurs to himself. After a moment of consideration, he picks up the oldest looking book labeled غير مؤكد.

The leather is soft to the touch, well-worn by its many authors, even as it has only been opened occasionally. The chocolate-brown book falls open in his hand as he looks for any mention of rifts, or people setting out to control them.  He flips through the pages, scanning the hand-written text. A few pages in, he finds a mention of a place in the French Alps, a focusing of energy, a convergence where the barriers between worlds are thin. The note is dated from the middle of the eighteenth century, and it has an brief addition from the nineteenth, stating another may possibly lie in north-eastern China.

James writes a brief summary in his notes about Willow River, then continues to search for more stories. There’s not much. A one-line note begins with “fae-sighted people, as excellent conduits for interdimensional communication, are recommended not to” but the sentence does not finish.

“ _Waw, hdha kan mfydana jdana. Shukraan ealaa kitabatiha_ ,” James says sarcastically, out loud, despite the fact he is sitting in a room by himself.  He sits with the journal on his lap, pondering for a few moments. There must be more than this, there  _must_. He tries another journal –  الأكوان, and pages through it until—

> It has long been known that the universe does not carry only our physical forms. Parallel to us are, of course, the spirit realms; further into the fabric of reality, universes similar to our own and very different. We know this because of the brave souls who enter these other realms, occasionally with intent to do so; some return with tales of the future, or the past, or of worlds so unlike our own they could not comprehend – and these come back broken. Yet perhaps even more interesting is the space between the worlds, the fabric of reality itself, which none of this plane can begin to comprehend: the stuff of which the universes are made is brimming with power, an infinitude of possibilities. To gain control over this would spell the power of life and death, of creation and destruction, of mortals become gods for the slightest of moments before they are torn to shreds and reality rewrites itself in whichever way it sees fit. This writer has seen the devastation of a civilization laid low by attempting to harness this energy: should any beings succeed, they would alter the course of reality without question. Of course, one wonders how many times this has already happened, and which iteration of the universe we exist in today. Deep questions on this starless Sahara night, indeed.

“Yes!” James cheers, jumping on the bed in celebration. James reaches over for his phone, taking a picture of the long quote and recording the book title and page number in his notes on Willow River.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> “غير مؤكد” [unconfirmed]  
> “Waw, hdha kan mfydana jdana. Shukraan ealaa kitabatiha.” [Wow, that’s so helpful. Thanks for writing it down.]  
> “الأكوان” [universe]


	7. Afternoon - II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Mik have lunch and talk about the perils of dating demons; Cassandra does some research and makes Cecilia an offer she may or may not be able to refuse.

“Lunch at the café,” Ryan asks Mik as they leave his house, “or at Sidekick? It’s on me.”

“Sidekick sounds good,” Mik says, “I don’t want to put any extra work on the M&D guys right now.” 

“Heh, fair enough,” Ryan says with a nod, and turns right down the road instead of left. “What’s on your mind?”

Mik scuffs their feet as they walk, head down, thinking. “I don’t want to cause trouble,” they say after a while, and then, all in a rush: “I know it’s not – not safe, not smart, to go after him yet, and he wanted me to be smart about this. But the thought of just sitting around waiting for everyone to get their shit together when he’s just  _gone_  scares the hell out of me. It – I mean, I know he’s confident they can’t actually kill him, but it seemed like he was prepared to never come back, Ryan. I can’t let that happen. I refuse to. And then…”

Ryan waits a moment, since it seems like Mik wasn’t quite done, and then looks over at them. “And then?”

Mik runs a hand through their hair, an unconscious gesture they’ve picked up working with Shane. “He told me what he is. He told me a  _lot_  of it. Not – not everything, because I didn’t want him to have to do that, but – can they hurt him, Ryan? Can they do something to him to make him – make him go back to, I think he called it, the ‘eons in which I have wreaked havoc’?”

Ryan’s quiet for a long moment. “I don’t know if they have anything like that. God, he really gave you the works, eh?” He sighs. “Can they hurt him? Yes, they can. He has a physical form and he feels pain, though not as acutely as we humans. Of course…they _do_ know how to cause pain.  But is he in danger of  _becoming_  a danger? I doubt it. That would mean they have power even further beyond what we thought they did.”

Mik takes a deep, steadying breath. “Oh, thank God.”

Ryan snorts faintly. “How ironic.”

Mik gives him a rueful smile. “Glad you seem to be holding up okay.”

Ryan exhales through his nose and passes his hand over his face. “You showed up after the breakdown.”

Mik sighs. “Yeah, I guess I missed a couple things.”

“You were on pretty strict instructions to stay safe…” Ryan says, “and it took me a fair while to confirm it was safe for you to come out.”

They’ve reached the Sidekick; Ryan holds the door open for Mik to enter.  Mik ducks inside, makes a beeline for a booth in the back of the place. “Yeah?” they prompt.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, following. Once they’ve sat down, and Kelsey’s taken their drink orders, he continues. “We didn’t get back in until sometime around midnight last night. Then checking all the security systems – including figuring out what the hell happened at the clinic, which ended up being the new kids in town – and getting some rest … I didn’t even see the envelope Shane had left me until this morning, and I was almost done double-checking his list when James and Cassandra and company banged on my door.”

Mik nods. “I did see Cassandra’s back in town. That’s cool. She seemed like a reliable person when she was here before.”

Ryan nods. “I agree. Anyway … I know it’s hard, just to leave him there. Trust me, I know. It’s eating away at me.” 

“I don’t doubt it. I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

He makes some sort of noncommittal gesture with his hand. “I guess that’s the price of loving an ageless supernatural entity who knows most of the secrets of the universe and is currently the prime target of a shadowy organization with no ethics.”

Mik can’t help laughing, sharp and surprised. “Yeah, I guess it is!”

Ryan smiles, caught somewhere between genuine amusement, serious pain, and survival snark. “I mean, I didn’t know I was getting myself into  _this_ , but … I knew it wasn’t going to be sunshine and butterflies.  Ah,” he says, playing with his fork, “you don’t need to hear about my love life. You said you wanted to talk to me. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

Mik shakes their head. “Nah, I’m glad you two got it together. Took you long enough.” They’re quiet for a minute, thinking. “I don’t know about  _talk_ , but… you’re human, right? And you’re able to hold your own well enough to go out on hunts? Can – can you teach me?”

Kelsey returns with their drinks, and they order. Once she’s left again, Ryan continues. “I can hold my own, yeah. Partially because my preferred sparring partner – _don’t even think it_ – is Shane, who … well, if you can hold your own against Shane, you’re pretty well set. Though Cecilia still beats me more often than I’d like to admit.” He sips his Coke. “What’s your weapon of choice?”

Mik raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on Ryan’s aside. They reach down under the table, and come back with the butterfly knife they keep wedged in their boot and the brass knuckles in their hoodie pocket, which they dump on the table next to their plate of chicken. “Uh, I’ve got these, but I’m not exactly good with them. And I’ve, um, I’ve got access to my Dad’s shotgun, ‘cause he keeps it in the back of his ute and he doesn’t know I know? But Jesus, man, I think actually using it on someone would mess me up big time.” 

“Yeah, it does mess you up. It’s not fun. And honestly, the quieter the better. Cece uses a gun but it’s got a silencer on it, and it’s pretty small calibre. Francesca and Banjo occasionally bring rifles out, but only for hunting creatures, or for really dangerous targets. Less messy when you don’t have to rely on a gun.” He looks at the knife, and the brass knuckles. “Francesca’s best at using things like brass knuckles, but I’m alright with a knife. I can at least get you in on the ground floor, give you a few tricks before you do a session or two with Francesca or Banjo.” 

Mik nods. “I want to learn what I can from you, if that’s alright.”

“Sure,” he says, “when do you want to start? Later this afternoon? Tonight? We’ve both got some energy that could use working off.”

“Yeah, we do,” Mik says. “This afternoon sounds good. I’m – I’m not doing the best with waiting around right now.”

“I hear you,” Ryan says, “oh, man, do I ever hear you.”

* * *

Cassandra is back at her RV, after a long and eventful morning.  She plops down on the bed, sighing. That was enough information for a lifetime. She fishes her phone out of her pocket and opens her notes as she plugs it in to charge. Angels. Fairies. Magic? Bloody hell, that was a lot to take in. She goes to her laptop, opening her files from December. Indeed, Mikaere was the one she remembered from that weird night on Christmas Eve; she'd also done short interviews with Andrew and Adam, though she had remarkably written them off as “follow-up not required”. 

She spends a good few minutes reorganizing the new information she collected in the past twenty-four hours before opening a new file. She fills at least a handful of pages, adding as much detail as she can, but it’s not much. As she comes to the final paragraph, though, she hesitates. Her connection is secure, but  _how_  secure? 

She decides to do some research. She looks up Mount Perseus, “Irina”, rifts—anything she can think of—and then tries yet again to search some of the Willow Guard members’ names, even though she’s pretty sure they never stood out before.  No pings return on any of the Guard members’ names, nor on Irina, but “Mount Perseus” does throw up a brief note about a weather-research station established in the early eighties, with an even briefer note regarding an underground cave system labeled θλ12ζ, with similar stations established worldwide in similar cave systems.

Cass reads the note a couple of times, then saves the file. She tries looking up θλ12ζ, then, not sure if she’ll even find anything.

Her computer tosses a pop-up on-screen:

` ** Username:  
Password: ** `

“Oh?” Cass says out loud. She types in her credentials and waits.

The pop-up disappears. A few seconds pass, then another one shows up:

` ** Your request has been logged. Please wait for confirmation. ** `

Not sure how long that one will take, Cass stretches on her chair. She should be preparing herself, too, but she’s not entirely sure she knows  _how_. Well, she has an idea… She ponders on it for a second, trying to figure out if it’s worth a shot, and how much that could cost her. Turning the laptop screen away from the door, she grabs her phone again and texts Cecilia. 

` _Hey, it’s Cassandra. Can we talk?_ `

A couple minutes pass, and then her phone pings.

` _Sure. What’s up?_ `

` _I meant in person. Safer._ `

` _…Level of safety required?_ `

` _Preferred. It’s ok if you’re busy, but I’d want to talk to someone in the Guard regardless…_ `

` _You’re at the RV park, right? If you head into the forest just north of you, about half a kilometre north is a warded spot. You’ll know it when you feel it. I’ll meet you there._ `

“‘You’ll know it when you feel it?’ Jesus…” Cass chuckles softly, wondering when her life became this. She grabs her coat and phone, leaves the RV—making sure to lock it behind her—and follows in the direction Cecilia indicated in her text.

It doesn’t take long to find the spot: as Cassandra wanders north, map open on her phone, she begins to feel like something is angling her away – she keeps wanting to go further east, or west, or as she walks further it begins to push her south. Then, after a moment of overwhelming need to  _just turn back_ , she stumbles past a couple of trees into a wide-open clearing that most definitely wasn’t there before, with Cecilia standing in the middle of it.

“You weren’t kidding about me feeling it,” Cassandra jokes as she takes a couple of steps to make sure she’s  _inside_ , wherever that is. “Good, uh, job. With it, I mean. And thanks for meeting me. I’d rather not say any of this over the phone,” she says, and makes a point of turning off hers.

Cecilia chuckles. “Thank Banjo, he put it up: we just use it when we need a spot to talk.” She lifts up her phone and shows it’s off, too. “So – what’s up?”

Cass clears her throat. She chooses her next words carefully. “If things go well, we’re in and out of there without drawing any attention to us. But if things go wrong… We need to be prepared. Flash bombs, tear gas, explosives, vests. Correct?”

Cecilia tilts her head slightly, then nods slowly. “We have some supplies of that nature, yes…”

“Of course,” Cass nods back, already regretting this. Fuck. “Weapons?”

“Weapons we’re not short on; did you see Ryan’s wall?” She smiles a little. “Seeing as we’re in the zone of truth, as it were, I must ask – is planning infiltrations a hobby of yours? Madam sociologist?”

“Something like that. This is my way of saying that we can get  _more_  supplies, if need be.” She pauses for a second, choosing where to go with this. “You don’t have any reason to trust me, I know this. Just like I don’t have any reason to trust  _you_. But I’m choosing to. Otherwise, this is gonna be a monumental failure on our part, and I don’t think we can afford to fail.”

“Cassandra,” Cecilia says, very seriously, “Believe me when I say I understand the need for trust. And  _you,_  you I trust. You’ve shown that you care about this community and the people in it. Can I trust where you’re getting your supplies from?  Because I doubt very much that it’s the University of British Columbia.”

Cass opens her mouth to say that yes,  _of course_  you can, but something stops her. Maybe it’s the weirdness of the situation—they are, after all, talking in an enchanted part of the forest—, maybe she’s just on high alert ever since that body was found out back, but… she hesitates. “Canada takes higher education very seriously,” she tries to joke. “No, but really, I… I’d like to believe you can.”

Cecilia looks very amused by the idea of Canada taking higher education that seriously. “What can you get us? How quickly, and how quietly? And… how well do you know how to use it?”

“Pretty well,” Cass grins. “Well, I’m not the biggest fan of bombs of any kind, but we can’t always have it our way. Big fan of surveillance tech, though. And close combat. But to answer your other questions, hopefully overnight, and as quietly as possible.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly. “ _Well_  then,” she says, looking as if she’s thinking hard.  “Find out what you can get us for stealth gear,” she says, finally. “We can consider the big guns later.”

“Alright. I’ll let you know when I have it,” Cass smiles, a smile she hopes shows she is being as honest as she possibly can. She starts to take a step back, but stops. “Do we have any sort of blueprint of Mount Perseus?”

“Unfortunately no, at least not yet,” she replies. “Ryan got a fair amount of footage and we’ll be extrapolating from that, but obviously he hasn’t had a chance yet. Also,” she adds, a small smile creeping onto her face, “what’s your pleasure in close combat? A number of us are hand-to-hand specialists.”

Cass does a half-shrug, then leans down to draw the knife hidden in her boot. She flips it up ans catches it again effortlessly, saying, “Mostly blades. But I can hold up to unarmed combat too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Cecilia grins, sliding a gorgeous knife out from her sleeve in one fluid motion. “I can hold my own with a knife, but I’m more of a gunslinger, if I have my way. I love a good brawl, but if you want a knife fight, ask Francesca or Banjo.”

“Will do,” Cass says, smiling and hiding her knife again. “I do have a gun, but more for emergencies than anything. Sometimes noise is the last thing I want, you know?”

“Amen to that,” Cecilia says with a laugh, sheathing her own knife. “So – anything else you want to talk about?”

“Not at the moment, I don’t think so. I’ll get back to you if I have anything that might be of use tomorrow… Hopefully I will, so if I end up texting you again, it’s good news. Or, well. As good as they can be in the circumstances.”

Cecilia nods. “Understood. You know where to find me,” she says, then turns and walks out of the clearing, disappearing into the forest.

“Sure thing,” Cass says when Cecilia walks away. She takes a deep breath and walks out herself.  Once she’s back in her RV, she checks her laptop—the more she finds on Mount Perseus before tomorrow, the better.  As she opens her laptop, she finds a new message, delivered via pop-up just like the others:

` ** Access granted. ** `

Barely taking the time to take off her coat, Cass just sits down and starts reading whatever she can lay eyes on.

`**Mount Perseus Research Facility**`  
`**classification: Psi-12**`  
`**established: 1979-10-03**`  
`**Mount Perseus is a Psi-12 level research facility in northern British Columbia, established in late 1979 to document the θλ12ζ interdimensional rift and conduct adjacent research. Projects include Prometheus, █████████, and Thanatos. The facility is isolated and self-sufficient; any personnel seeking further information on any Perseus-related projects is encouraged to contact their supervisor.**`

“Well,  _fuck_.”  Cass copies the note to her files and sees the document she had been writing before meeting with Cecilia. She had thought about sending it out, but now—not so much. That changes things. With about a million things going through her head, she deletes the report she had been writing and goes further down the rabbit hole, as far as she can without contacting her supervisor—or anyone, for that matter.


	8. Afternoon - Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banjo has a busy afternoon: he helps Roan figure out their deal with the devil, and he and Xiaolian have a sparring match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover over italicised foreign language text for translations! (Mobile and tablet users, please see the ending notes.) These are not written by native speakers by any means, please forgive the inevitable terrible errors if you are a speaker!

Roan has been eating their lunch in the park just off the main drag, sitting on a park bench and eating a tasty buddha bowl they picked up at M&D on the way by – quinoa, kale, baked sweet potato and onion, roasted chickpeas and tofu, shredded carrots, and a perfectly ripe avocado, sprinkled with lemon juice. The park is quiet – there’s a family having a picnic across the way from them, sitting under a big tree, and someone else way down the path reading a book. A cyclist goes by.  It’s blessedly quiet, and has been for the past hour or so. As they wipe up the last bits of dressing with the handmade naan bread provided with the buddha bowl, they see Banjo walking along the main street, heading towards his general store.

Roan bites their lip before nodding firmly and throwing their trash in the bin and standing up. “Banjo. Hey Banjo! Wait up.” They jog over to Banjo on the street, anxious to get answers now that they’ve started. “You said you could help me out. I’d, uh, I’d like to take you up on that.”

Banjo pauses and looks around as he hears his name, then catches sight of Roan and smiles. “Hi,” he says, as they jog up beside him. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

Roan pause beside him. “Honestly… I’m not really sure. I’m barely even sure what I’m doing and the only reason I’m still here is because I basically gave James a nervous breakdown and I feel really guilty and I don’t actually properly get what the hell is going on with me and I just don’t want to hurt anyone else again.” Roan snaps their mouth shut, embarrassed at their rant. Then they tilt their head a little, considering. “At least I don’t want to hurt someone accidentally again.”

“Okay,” he says, “I feel like I’m missing some context. Do you want to go somewhere a little less public? I’ve got a safe room with some books that might be helpful, or there’s a warded spot a ways out of town. Your call.”

“Safe room please. Books would definitely be useful. Books always work.”

He nods, and leads them across the street to his store. He unlocks it, and opens the front door. “C’mon in. Head to the back, we’re goin’ downstairs.”

He closes the door behind them both, and relocks it. Back through the shelves of goods, Roan finds the old store counter, and then a kitchen in the back, with a back door to the outside and another door, open, leading downstairs.

Roan hesitates then nods. They start down the staircase, unsure of exactly what they’ve gotten themself into but determined none the less. They pause at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Banjo’s cue.

Banjo follows them down the stairs, flicking a light on as they enter the basement. It looks unfinished, the ceiling all bare floor joists, wiring, and copper piping. There’s a threadbare couch and armchair, a bookcase with a few paperbacks on it, and an old battered TV set. “It’s not much,” he says wryly, “but then, I don’t spend a whole lot of time down here … “

“It’s kind of, uh, serial killer chic to be honest. Kinda spooky.” Roan winces as the words fall out their mouth. Definitely the best way to make friends was to call people serial killers.

Banjo laughs. “You’re not wrong.” Then he claps his hands once, and his fingertips begin to glow – as do lines of runes up his arms and neck. And as the glow spreads through the room, it transforms: the couch and chair plump up, becoming a deep blue with gold buttons; the bookcase becomes a polished oak with the tomes on its shelves now leather-bound and gold-edged; the TV set becomes a carved black granite pedestal with a shallow bowl on top.

Roan’s mouth drops open. “Dude! That was quite possibly the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen!” They half bounce over to the bookcase, running a hand along the spines of the books, awe written on their face. “What spell was that? _Was_ that a spell? A glamour? What’s the language here? What exactly  _are_  you?”

“A ward,” he says, the glow fading, “crossed with a glamour. My own work, as is everything here. The language I use is a mix of Pictish and Norse. And I  _am_  human.”

“Ah yes, because we all know glowing fingers tips are a classic sign of being human.” Roan winces again. “Sorry. Can’t control my mouth sometimes. Did someone teach you this or did you make it up as you went?”

He chuckles. “I really am human, just touched by the other side. And it’s alright, I was your age once.” He brushes his fingers along the edge of the bookcase. “A little bit of both. I’m a sevens baby – the deal that was struck that gave me all this occurred far beyond the living memory of my family. I have a few notes, but mostly … mostly it’s me, and my instincts, and what I’ve figured out since.”

“Wait, so the seven-being-important thing is true? Awesome. I can’t believe you’ve learned all this yourself.” Roan’s face becomes serious as they look back at the shelves. “So.” They clear their throat. “Demon deals. What do you know?”

“They’re rarely what they seem, they’re trickier than fuckin’ leprechauns, and there are  _always_  strings,” Banjo says, sitting down in the armchair. “And the more information you can give me, the better.”

Roan slumps down onto the couch and gives a small chuckle. “Well, that might be hard, seeing as I sorta made the deal accidentally in my dream.” They rub their face with one hand, feeling weary after the events of the past few days. “I thought I was dreaming so I went along with it, and then all this weird stuff happened, and boom!  I’m kinda magic. And half-dead according to James. Which is really fun.” Roan hesitates then reaches into their pocket. “The demon dude also sent me this. It’s kind of like a vague instruction manual… more _what_ I can do rather than exactly how to do it.”

Banjo holds his hand out. “May I see? Also, do you remember at all what they looked like or sounded like, what happened in the dream?”

Roan hands over the book and shrugs. “Smudgy? Vaguely humanoid? Just like this entity. It didn’t feel like  _evil_  evil. Just, like, dickish-older-brother evil.”

“Oh wonderful,” he deadpans, “everyone’s favourite, the demonic older brother.” He flips through the book. “You say he  _sent_  you this?”

“It appeared on my doorstep – and then he kinda referenced it in a later dream.” Roan pauses. “Sometimes he torments me a bit in dreams. Well, nightmares.”

Banjo raises an eyebrow, looking up from the book. “Torments how?”

“You know, just classic nightmare stuff. Like, ‘ooooh, something is chasing me in the woods. Ooooh, there’s something in the dark with me.’ Honestly, it’s not that scary. It’s like cheap horror movie scary. When I’m awake, it doesn’t bother me at all— but obviously dream me is  _freaked._ ”

“Sounds like a real ass.” He frowns. “What were the terms of the deal? What did you ask for, what did you give in return?”

Roan feels a blush begin to creep up their face and they look at the ground. “I said I wanted to be lucky, I wanted witchy powers, and…” Roan pauses, trying to force the words out, their voice dropping to practically a whisper. “I wanted people to like me.” Roan scrubs a hand across their face and takes a deep breath, gaze shifting to the bookcase. “All he said was he’d give me what I wanted and instructions would follow. And then after a month and some stuff, the book appeared and I took off.”

He listens carefully, and nods slowly. “But you didn’t promise anything in return, and he didn’t ask for anything?”

“I don’t think so.”

He frowns deeply. “I don’t like  _that_  at all. I think one of the first things you need to learn is some serious personal warding.”

Roan’s mouth twists into a sardonic frown.  “Oh, wow. My demon deal went wrong. What a shocker. Are you the guy to teach me that stuff, or someone else?” 

He raises an eyebrow, waits a moment, then responds. “I can teach you to ward yourself, and I can help you work out at least some of how to use your powers. But the sooner we can get that deal either sealed properly, or take out whoever’s pulling your strings, the better, and that will almost certainly require Shane’s help.”

Roan groans. “Christ, nothing’s ever simple is it.” They run a hand through their hair. “Okay. Personal wards, then power stuff?”

“Nothing supernatural’s ever simple, but in this case you’re dealing with an open-ended, no-terms-specified deal with a demon who, so far, has given you powers and is showing up to torment you but  _isn’t_  asking for anything.” Banjo sighs, then puts the book on the table. “What’s worked so far for you, to tap into your powers and use them?”

“I, uh, just kinda think really hard. That’s about all I know.”

He nods. “Try something. Let’s see what happens.”

Roan closes their eyes and focuses, breathing gently. They think about something, anything … they feel darkness at the edge of their mind, and when they open their eyes they’re looking at the top of Banjo’s head, from above. They look down at themselves, and see dark fog swirling up in a column underneath them, holding them three feet in the air. As they take notice of this, the fog dissipates, and they fall back to the couch with a thump.

“Well then,” Banjo says. “We can work with that.”

“Honestly that’s a new one on me.”

“What have you been able to do so far?”

“Accidentally? Mostly small stuff that was easy to dismiss as luck. A bus staying at the stop when I was running late. Exams cancelled when I wasn’t ready. And then I accidentally made my roommate give me her brand-new laptop… I gave it back, obviously. Deliberately? I tried to make James stop moving towards Xiaolian but it didn’t work. And I did something to the ghoul. Kinda slashed at it? But with magic.”

Banjo’s eyes light up. “Coincidences eh?  _Coincidence_  I can work with—  _those_ , I know  _well._   That suggests to me that your powers tap into the threads of reality in much the same way mine do – though they come from something different, and it seems like yours have some amount of control over physical reality, given the conjured fog.”  He looks fascinated, and determined.

Roan laughs a little. “See you’re making this sound cool now. So how hard is this stuff gonna be to learn?”

“It’s not  _easy_ ,” he says, “but we’re not starting from nothing. I might be able to literally show you the ropes.” He gets up and moves over to the pedestal. “If you’re willing to take a chance with me?”

Roan hesitates, then shrugs. “Well I’ve come this far.” They stand and walk over to Banjo. “Do your worst, my dude.”

He holds his hands out to them, palms up. “Hands in mine.”

Roan obeys the directive, choosing to stay quiet.

Banjo closes his eyes and breathes, the runes on his arms and his hands glowing. The glow extends into the bowl, which lights up with runes and appears to fill with water – and then Roan feels a cool breeze brush over them, followed by the sensation of cool water spraying over them, like the spray from an ocean wave. Their vision goes bright purple for a moment, and then it looks like they’re seeing everything superimposed with endless super-fine filigree, little streaks of light going every which direction.

They look at Banjo, and find him looking back at them, his eyes glowing the same colour. “This is the tapestry of reality as I see it,” he says. “Most of what I do is the result of manipulating these threads, creating concentrations and voids. Don’t want someone to notice something? Clear the threads from around it. That’s the basis of my wards. You see how there are no threads touching me?” There does indeed seem to be a void around him, as if the little threads are repulsed by him.

“So what I’ll do for now,” he says, tightening his grip on their hands slightly, “is clear the threads from around you. You’ll learn to do this yourself by feel, and trial and error, but this should serve you as a good example.” He watches them for a moment, and as he does Roan feels a light breeze pass by them – and then as they look down at their hands, they see the tiny little void that’s around Banjo is now also around them.

“Huh. Neat.” Roan looks at the threads around and tries to imagine moving them. It seems like an impossible task.  They twitch in response, but fall back into place.  “Is that a good start?”

“Yes!” Banjo says with a grin. “That’s great! When you do this yourself, it might look different, as it won’t be influenced by my magic, but you’ve got the idea. Once you feel how to interact with this plane of reality, it really does just become a matter of intent and practice.”

They both spend the next couple hours working, exploring, and practicing, and by the end of it Roan is exhausted, but far more adept in the use of their powers. They also spend some time writing down all the specifics they can remember about their deal, so Banjo can do more research, and Banjo sends Roan off with a brand-new journal, three books (theoretical magic, demonology, and negotiation tactics), and a soapstone amulet inscribed with a _vegvisir_ on a long leather cord. “A tradition amongst us touched folk,” he says, pressing it into their hand. “Pass something along to protect your student. This was mine when I began learning, in Iceland. While you wear it, you won’t lose your way.”

“Thanks,” they say, and hold it tight.

* * *

Xiaolian is walking down the main road, kicking at a rock, deciding what to do with her evening, when she sees Banjo exiting his store with Roan. Roan heads off with a wave, and Banjo sits down on his front step, taking out his pipe and lighting it.

Xiaolian really can’t help herself. “Banjo!? Is that a weed? I’m calling the police!”

Banjo  _laughs_. “No, Xiaolian, this is a  _crayon_ …”

Xiaolian giggles and plops down on the stairs next to Banjo.  He takes a puff from the pipe and as he exhales the smoke, he whistles the opening notes of the X-Files theme. “Hey, kid. How you holding up?”

“Me? I’m super great. Nothing like a father figure being abducted and tortured to liven up the mood.”

He nods, looking out over the town. “I bet. Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. I’ve cried too many times today already. But i was hoping you could help figure out my-- our powers.  Together.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, “and sure, I can see what I can do. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve discovered so far?”

Xiaolian lets out a sigh. “Not much, to be honest. I just learned to control the flames thanks to Zhiqiang. I’m pretty sure my powers are at least somewhat related to the river… Uh, my eyes turn gold when I do use my powers, and occasionally my vision will start to turn gold and azure. And…you saw the visions.”

“What do you think about to use your powers? Or how do you activate them?” He’s tapping the end of his pipe against his jaw, thinking. “And did they show up at all before you got your sword?”

“Well, it depends on how loud the river is. I mean the one in my head, not the real one… I think. I mean, I relied on the actual river the first time, so, I don’t know? I just… it’s a lot. To think about at once. At the very least I know for sure I didn’t have them before I got the sword. Maybe. I don’t even really know about that anymore.”  She looks at the sky in exasperation.

“Hm.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Okay. I think this calls for some experimentation. We should probably head out to the forest for this: it’s a little hard to do sword training in enclosed spaces. When you have a chance, you should ask Adam for a lesson or two – he and Shane are our sword masters.”

“Got it.” She stands up, ready to follow Banjo wherever.

He stands as well, and walks around the back of the store. He taps a spot on the wall, and a purple circle begins to glow, then widen into a tall oval – once the light clears, Xiaolian can see a forest clearing on the other side.

“Whoa! That’s so cool!”

“And incredibly convenient. After you,” he says, gesturing to the portal.

Xiaolian walks through slowly, very intent on not dying or anything like that.  She barely even notices that she’s walking into a wall: it’s like stepping from Banjo’s backyard into the middle of the forest. Banjo steps out behind her, and the portal disappears.

“Let’s see what you can do with that sword,” he says, unsheathing a Bowie knife from a holster on his side and taking up a defensive posture across the circle from her.

“What!? Wait wait wait, I’ve barely even used this. I mean I used it that one time with Shane but I didn’t even realize what I was doing!”

He chuckles. “And I’m holding a knife that’s not even half the size of your sword. Don’t worry, Xiaolian, this isn’t about me judging how magically good you’ve gotten at sword-fighting: it’s about me seeing what comes naturally to you, what your powers look like. We’re gathering information.”

“Okay… your tone sounds suspiciously like how Bolin sounds when he says that me telling the truth won’t get me in trouble even though it will.” She groans and pulls the sword out of its sheath, not even bothered by the flames anymore. 

The flames leap to life, and Banjo watches, waiting to see what she’ll do.

Xiaolian takes a deep breath and thinks back to the night with Shane. Her body slowly settles in to the same position. Stance wide and low, with her sword held in both hands, blade up and close. Defensive.  She feels Zhiqiang slither into existence, and senses him take a position above and behind her, near the tree line.  She almost takes a step forward but something stops. Tells her to wait until Banjo moves first. He may just have a knife but he has years of experience.

Banjo waits and watches for a moment, then moves forward across the circle, staying low, his knife held backwards in his hand, the blade pointing back and away from him.

Xiaolian takes a couple steps away, circling out towards the left.

He strafes to the side, takes one step, two— and then darts at her right side.

Xiaolian swivels on one foot, turning to meet him and swings her sword in a downward slash before automatically flipping her hands on the pommel to slash upwards.

Banjo brings his blade up to meet hers: it glances off and to the side as he spins behind her.

Xiaolian spins with him, dropping low with one leg, trying to trip him. Her eyes have already gone gold and all she can really hear is Banjo’s movements and the flames turning into waves.

He jumps her leg, slashing at her hand – he doesn’t make contact, but it’s close. “Hey Xiaolian,” he says, “what’s on your mind? Been a crazy weekend, eh?”

Xiaolian jumps backwards. She’s more focused on not getting stabbed than controlling her filter so she doesn’t really stop herself from saying, “Yeah, your mom kept me up all night.” Her sword is pointed towards the ground, grip loose and ready.

He’s got a twinkle in his eyes, and the runes on his arms and neck are glowing faintly. “I understand she’s quite the lay,” he fires back, “hope you took notes.” He leaps forward, looking as if he’s going to stab at her but at the last second he dodges sideways, runs a step or two up a tree, and jumps off, catching her on the shoulder with his hand as he goes by – she feels a breeze flow past her, and a flash of memory crosses her mind—  _red lipstick._

Xiaolian stumbles and the flames rise a little higher. She lets out a sharp “fuck!” and takes a hot second to balance herself and shake the image out of her mind.

Banjo bounces on the balls of his feet, watching her intently from a dozen feet away. “When was the last time you saw Shane?”

Xiaolian grits her teeth. “Friday when he took me for a joyride in the trees and then I had a breakdown over my dead parents. So, you know, a casual night out for me.”

He steps to the side, shifting the grip on his knife. “And when did you have your vision?”

“Same night, my dude.” She readjusts her grip and mirrors his steps.

“How you feeling about it?” He takes a few running steps forward, then dashes to her side. “Angry? Hurt? Betrayed?”

“Imma need you to be a little more specific here.” She runs to meet him, bring her sword up to block.

He leans in close, shoving her blade back with his knife. The flames interact strangely with his glowing eyes and runes. “I’m saying that yes, you’ve done a lot of crying, but a lot of people have been keeping things from you. Aren’t you angry?”

Xiaolian pushes back, limbs trembling with effort of keeping a full-grown man back. “Of course I’m angry. What kind of question is that?”

“When are you gonna let it out? It’s only going to distract you if you keep it in.” He suddenly releases backwards, dropping down and rolling to the side before popping back up to his feet a couple yards away.

“I can’t.” Xiaolian grips her sword so tightly her knuckles turn white.

“Why not?”

“That’s not what everyone needs right now. That’s not what Shane needs. If I blow up now, I might never calm down. Eighteen years of lies is a lot to deal with.”

“Better to do it now than when someone’s life is on the line, kid.” He lifts his hands, still holding the knife, and his runes glow brightly – she feels like a strong wind buffets her from behind, and it hurts, like a cold winter wind whipping at her back. “Let it out, Xiaolian. The longer you keep it in, the more you’re going to feel like it’s your fault.”

It’s too much. She was shaken before she came with Banjo and this was too much. There’s a hurricane in her head, all white water and rushing current. “ _Shut up!_ ”

“No!” he shouts back. The wind is picking up outside her head, too, and his runes, hands, and eyes are all glowing brightly. “I will not! You are  _hurting_ ,  _deeply_ , for the people you love – and you feel betrayed and abandoned by them, don’t you! They’ve all left you, or lied to you, and you don’t know who to trust!”

Xiaolian drops the sword but the flames don’t go out, instead rising higher. She brings her hands up to cover her ears because it’s too loud, it hurts – everything hurts. She feels like she’s been broken, and not just physically. “It’s not _fair! Why_ are you _hurting me like this? You’re_ one of the people who _lied to me!!_ ” She looks directly at him, already crying. Her eyes are the brightest gold they’ve ever been.

He meets her golden gaze with his own intense purple. “Because you won’t admit any of this to yourself, and instead hide it and pretend you don’t care! And one day, Xiaolian, if you don’t confront all of this, one day it will hurt you in the worst possible way, and then something really  _will_  be your fault.”

“ _Fuck you! Fuck this town and  everyone in it!!_”

The flames from the sword are higher than a bonfire; the wind in the clearing is whipping at both their clothes. Banjo steps forward, just out of arm’s reach. “Yeah? Fuck who, Xiaolian? And why? Who are you angry at?”

Xiaolian closes the distance and shoves him. “ _Everyone! I’m angry at everyone. I’m angry at you for lying to me. I’m angry at the rest of the guard for lying to me. I loved all of you and you lied to me!!_” She shoves him again, harder this time. “ _I’m angry at Shane for always being there— he doesn’t get to tuck me in at night and sing me lullabies and then just **fucking disappear** , not when I started feeling whole again!!_” Another shove.

He doesn’t resist, stepping back with the force every time she shoves him. “What else, Xiaolian? That’s this week. That’s barely even the last two days. You’ve got more than that.”

Xiaolian’s breathing starts to speed up. Gold and azure are coloring her vision again. “ _I’m angry at Bolin— I’m angry for Bolin! He shouldn’t have had to raise me! That wasn’t his responsibility! I’m angry that he’s probably been lying about my parents my entire life!!_” She switches from shoving him to hitting him. “ _I’m angry that sometimes he looks at me like it was my fault and **I don’t know why!!**_ ”

Banjo absorbs the hits, beginning to bring his hands up to catch her fists as her punches get stronger. He’s still staring her in the eyes. “And?” he asks. “I feel like we’re almost there.”

“ _I’m angry that my parents are dead! I’m angry that they left me and Bolin **behind**. What the **fuck** were we supposed to do?! I’m angry that they weren’t there for my  birthdays, I’m mad they weren’t there when all of this started happening, I’m mad that every Mothers’ Day and every Fathers’ Day all the other kids get to give their parents a gift and **Bolin and I have to talk to a fucking headstone!!**_ ”

Banjo catches her fists as she goes to hit him again, and he holds them, staring into her eyes. “Feel that anger, Xiaolian, let it burn.” They’re in the eye of the windstorm, the calm at odds with Xiaolian’s blazing sword behind her. Zhiqiang is still hovering by the trees, seemingly unaffected by the wind.

Xiaolian screams. She can’t see anything but gold and blue swirling and it almost feels like there’s water lapping at her feet.

“Uh huh,” he says. “It’s not fair, is it? It’s not fair that you’ve had to carry all this for so long, and no one’s given you any answers – regardless of whether they _had_ any to give you. It’s not fucking fair, and it hurts, and you’re lonely, and  _of course_  it’s all coming to a head now, and you don’t understand what’s going on. You finally feel like you can  _do_  something about  _anything_ , and the whole world gets flipped upside down – wasn’t the sword enough? Weren’t the powers enough? Did you have to lose one of your dads, too? And then, on top of  _everything_  else, you have the distinct misfortune of seeing where he is and what’s happening to him— it’s just not fair, it’s a bitch and a half, and you are just  _so fucking angry_ , aren’t you?!”

She is. Xiaolian is _so fucking angry_ and it’s overwhelming. It feels like something bursts and she screams even louder. Xiaolian pushes Banjo away again. There’s water everywhere, she’s drowning, it feels like everything is rushing out of her at once.

He keeps his hands on hers, but he lets her push him. “And underneath all that, you’re scared. Now you know things you never thought you’d know, things are real that you never dreamed could be real, and it’s amazing but it’s also terrifying. One of your adoptive dads is an angel, one’s a demon, and old uncle Banjo’s got magic. Monsters are real and some of them love you and you might even be one yourself, no one knows. No one  _knows_. The people you love you and who’ve protected you, the people who are supposed to have the answers – we don’t. There are questions we can’t answer, and some of them are the most important ones you need to ask. That’s a terrifying realization even for eighteen-year-olds who  _don’t_  have magic powers and a spiritual dragon guide. You don’t know what the future holds, and you don’t feel like any of your supports really understand, and it’s frightening. And part of you really,  _really_  wants to go back to the time where Shane could sing you lullabies and Adam could soothe you to sleep after the nightmares, on the nights that Bolin couldn’t do it, on the nights he hurt too much – and you didn’t know anything, you were innocent and even though sometimes you were really, truly sad, it didn’t compare to the existential terror and nothingness you’re staring in the face.”

Xiaolian’s knees give out and she collapses to the floor. She curls up into herself and grips onto Banjo’s shirt, looking for an anchor. Her heart feels like it’s being ripped in two with every word Banjo says because it’s all true. She’s angry, yes. But she’s also terrified. She’s scared she’s going to lose another dad. How is she supposed to deal with any of this? How does anyone deal with all of this? Everything is changing too quickly for her to understand and it feels so completely out of her control that she doesn’t even know how to breathe anymore. Actually, she literally isn’t breathing right now; her lungs don’t seem to be working quite right.

Banjo sinks to the ground with her, the windstorm dying to a gentle breeze. He puts his arms around her and just breathes slowly. “Breathe with me, Xiaolian. It’s gonna be okay. You are right to be scared. You are right to be angry. You  _will_  get through this. You are a strong, determined, deeply compassionate young woman, and you have the power to make a difference – and you would even if you didn’t have magic. These moments of fear are normal, they’re part of being human. You pick up where you left off, you trust the people who care about you, and you find the answers.”

Xiaolian struggles for a moment but calms down enough to copy Banjo’s breathing. She leans into him, completely worn out.  The flames die down on the other side of the clearing, and Zhiqiang swoops in to nestle behind her. Banjo rests his head on top of hers. “That’s it. It’s gonna be okay.”

She’s not screaming anymore but she’s still sobbing. She wraps her arms around him, a little scared of letting go. “I d— don’t know what to do, _shūshu_.”

He holds her; Zhiqiang nestles close and nuzzles his head in under her elbow. “I know. That’s okay. Not knowing what to do is… kind of how life works.” He ruffles her hair a little. “First, I’d say start with getting a good night’s sleep, and then maybe spending some time writing down all the things that chase themselves around in your head. And maybe after that, have a good long conversation with Bolin.”

She lets out a wet laugh. “That’s sounds horrible. Bolin is gonna flip.”

“Yep,” he agrees. “It’s probably not gonna be fun, but I think it’s gonna be necessary for you to be able to put down some of the things you’ve been holding onto for a long time.”

“You’re probably right.” She pulls away and wipes her tears. “Can I take a quick nap at your place?” She reaches up to run her hand along Zhiqiang.

“Of course, you know I’ve always got the spare room.” He smiles and helps wipe her tears away. “Also, based on what I saw tonight, your powers are closely linked to your emotions. I think you’ll find them much more responsive, now that you’ve let all this out. I’d recommend listening to your heart and tempering your emotions with reason, and I think your gifts will be a wonder to watch. _Wǒ yǐ nǐ wéi róng_ , Xiaolian.”

She leans into his hand and gives him a small smile. “ _Xièxiè. Wèile yīqiè. Wǒ ài nǐ shūshu_.”

“ _Wǒ yě ài nǐ._ ” He stands, helps her up, and walks her to the edge of the clearing, where he makes a portal home. Not long after, he’s left her with a bag of his venison jerky (“you spent a  _lot_  of energy, kid, chow on one of those before bed”) and an extra blanket to keep out the chill, and turned the light off in the spare room as he heads to bed himself.  She passes out as soon as her head hits the pillow. She isn’t waking up anytime soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations:  
> “shūshu” [uncle]  
> “Wǒ yǐ nǐ wéi róng, Xiaolian.” [I’m proud of you, Xiaolian.]  
> “Xièxiè. Wèile yīqiè. Wǒ ài nǐ shūshu.” [Thank you. For everything. I love you uncle.]  
> “Wǒ yě ài nǐ.” [I love you too.]


	9. Night

Meanwhile, a couple hundred kilometers away, deep in the side of the towering Mount Perseus, it’s nearly eleven-thirty. Most of the facility is dark, naturally: even though it’s a top-secret installation, the people working there do still have to sleep. There are only a few wings open and functioning–the ones that need twenty-four-hour observation, work, or care. Beyond those few corridors still lit (with red lights, because no one needs their circadian rhythms to be even more disjointed), the dark hallways are quiet. Almost everyone has gone home.

However, eleven-thirty is the time when one particular fixture of the Mount Perseus research facility likes to take an evening constitutional: the woman currently ensconced in her comfortable, if somewhat Spartan, office; the woman who– despite the hierarchy of Mount Perseus being somewhat … esoteric– runs the place.

She is sitting behind her desk; she pushes her chair back a few inches, stretches, cracks her neck. She picks up a stack of papers sitting to the left of her workstation, and settles them on the wood of the desk, to neaten them nicely before leaving for the night. She scans the email currently up on her screen one last time before her long (but sensible), black-lacquered nails clack on her keyboard, shutting down the computer. She sets her fountain pen in its case and closes it with a snap.

Underneath her desk, she slips her feet back into her heels: a wedge heel today, black patent leather; a simple, comfortable, effective shoe when you have to do a lot of walking. She stands then, looks around her office, and satisfied that everything is in order, she takes her black peacoat from the hook beside the door, and leaves, locking it behind her as the lights shut off automatically.

She checks the time, glancing at the silver watch on her wrist. Eleven-thirty-two. Perfect timing. Five minutes to walk to the long-term wing, to check in on her guests herself–reports are all well and good, but … she prefers to have eyes on them herself, at least once a day–and then, to have her little bedtime chat with her  _favourite_  guest.

She shrugs into the coat, leaving it untied: it isn’t cold, but it’s a pain to carry the damn thing around with her. Who should she visit first?

She ponders this question as she walks down the halls, red lights blinking into existence just ahead of her, lighting her way, and then shutting off as she passes. Most of the administrative wing goes home far earlier than she does, but then, no ship should be without its captain for very long. So–who first? One of the little ones, perhaps?

She comes to a door, heavily locked, with a set of scanners beside it in a locked cabinet. She opens the cabinet, performs the necessary scans, and opens the door into the first section of the long-term wing: one of the few still lit, this late at night.

The door closes and locks behind her, machinery whirring quietly as the latch closes. She nods at the man behind the desk near the door, who nods back. “Evening, Director,” he says, putting down the clipboard he was perusing. “Anything I can help you with tonight?”

“No, thank you, Jeremy,” she says with a smile. “Just here on my usual rounds. Anything to report since the day-end check?”

He shakes his head. “No change, ma’am,” he replies. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

“Of course,” she says, and then continues down the hall, leaving Jeremy to his paperwork. She comes to a door marked 151, presses her finger to the scanner beside it, and as the LED turns green she pushes the door open.

Once inside the room, which has a single inhabitant asleep in a modified hospital bed, a closed plexiglass cylinder encircling it, she examines all the machinery around the bed herself, reads through the chart at the base of the bed, and just watches the person in the bed for a moment. After approximately two minutes, she nods, seemingly satisfied. “Good night, 151,” she says, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Looking forward to actually meeting you one of these days.”

She leaves the room, continues down the corridor to one marked 1914, and the process repeats itself–though the person in the bed is much smaller than the last one.

After this visit, the woman lets herself into a second corridor, which requires several more scans to enter: she then enters a room marked NC7, where yet another person can be found–though this person’s array of machines is far more …  _exhaustive._  

“Ah, my dear,” says the woman, “you really are taking your time, aren’t you?” She pulls a stool from the corner and sits on it. “You early models are so much harder to recycle effectively, even  _with_  the source and backup material present and accounted for.”

“No matter,” she says then, with a smile. “You’ll be back up on your feet soon enough. I suppose it would be best to send you back, wouldn’t it? After all, we still have people wondering where you’ve gone. I do wish you hadn’t gotten yourself quite so  _involved_ , dear. You really did make a mess of things for us.” She shakes her head. “Ah well. That is the danger in this business. Live and learn.” She turns one of the rings on her hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.” She gets up, and leaves.

One more visit now, and this is the one she’s looking forward to the most. She turns a corner, then another, then enters an elevator, walks down two more corridors, and lets herself into yet another elevator–and when the elevator slides its doors open onto the long concrete hallway dotted with steel doors, the red lights blink on as well. She steps out and begins walking down the hall: her footsteps echo on the walls.

She comes to the door she wants, scans herself in, and enters.  The man inside is awake, of course, and waiting for her.  “Good evening,” she says, smiling as she takes her customary seat across from him, not bothering to step around the tacky spots on the floor. She knows how to clean leather, after all. “How was your day?”

He stares at her, taking just a moment to decide what tack he wants tonight. Then, he spits at her. It doesn’t reach very far, as he’s dehydrated and rather weak: most of what he spits at her is blood, and it falls onto his chest, where it gets lost.

“Ah,” she says, “that’s too bad. You know, if you told us what we wanted to know,  _showed_  us what you can do for us, we could make this a lot easier on you.”

He takes a slow, shaky breath, then croaks out, “Fuck you.”

Her smile turns to one of amusement. “I’d be honoured. Never had the opportunity to share a bed with a demon before, I’d quite like to scratch it off the list. Of course,” she pauses, looking at her nails, “I could always go ask your little friend to share some of his memories, too. There  _are_  some other things I’d  _really_  like to ask him, and, well, what’s information-sharing between friends? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I took a few other things off his mind while I was at it.”

“You said…” It hurts to breathe, but he does it anyway. “You said you would leave him alone.”

“I said we would leave him alone if you cooperated,” she replies, a hint of ice in her tone. “You haven’t been holding up your end of the deal.”

“You’ve been keeping me in a pitch-black room. You’re the only person who’s—” He coughs, gasps in pain, then growls faintly before continuing. “Who’s come in at all. What am I supposed to be cooperating with?”

“I asked you some questions last night. I’d like some answers.” She twists one of her rings, contemplating him.

“And I am never going to give you those answers, because you will  _rend the world in twain_  if I tell you!” He’s almost yelling by the end of this sentence, and it clearly takes a toll on him: he slumps back against his bonds, panting.

“Big words from a big man,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “Do you think I’m bluffing? We caught your plaything once, we can do it again. He’s not hard to find. Answer my questions, and this will all be over.”

“Bull …  _shit_  …” he breathes, forcing his eyes to stay open. “Do you … think … I’m  _stupid?”_

Her ever-present smile has turned unsettlingly predatory; she has leaned forward enough that her face is in shadow, though her eyes gleam slightly in the low light. “No. By ‘this’, I mean …  _this_.” She twists her ring again, and a tiny little claw pops out of it: this she rakes across his chest,  _agonizingly_  slowly, tearing at the edges of already-present wounds and ones which have scabbed over. He groans, trembling slightly as he tries to ignore it, his eyes falling closed.

“You answer my questions, and I move you to somewhere much nicer. Get you out of that chair, clean you up, give you something to eat, something to drink … you must be thirsty,” she continues, tracing patternless lines across his torso, his shoulders, up along his neck, his jaw, into his matted hair. He does his best to suppress his whimpering, choked gasps echoing in the dead quiet room. “Wouldn’t you like to get cleaned up, Shane? Have some nice, pleasant,  _mundane_  water to bathe with for a change? I know this hurts. I know that you know that I can do much, much worse to you. I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do that.” 

He’s shaking, and his words comes through gritted teeth. “I will  _never_  tell you  _anything_. Do your  _worst_  … you cold-hearted, cruel, sadistic bitch.” 

She smiles even wider, leaning back, reaching into her coat pocket. “Why thank you … I’ll take that as a challenge, and a compliment.” She pulls a flask out, unscrews it, stands up, and slowly pours it over him, clear liquid dripping across his face, shoulders, bare torso, along all the new (and old) bloody lines. As soon as it touches him, a godawful scream wrenches itself from his throat, and when the flask drips empty, the screaming subsides into hoarse sobbing. 

She steps back, shakes a little bit of water off the toe of her shoe, and rescrews the cap onto the flask. “Good night, Shane,” she says, putting the flask back in her pocket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The door closes behind her, and the lights turn off. The sobs turn to ragged breaths as the water drips off and evaporates, the burning on and in his skin shifting to an aching itch like a sunburn that the cold darkness does nothing to assuage. 


End file.
